


Pray For The Dead

by RyanRossIsAPrincess



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Bullying, Consensual Underage Sex, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Please Don't Kill Me, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:10:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2103879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyanRossIsAPrincess/pseuds/RyanRossIsAPrincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And you say that you can save me ✬ Don't hope to ever find me ✬ And I fear I'm too far gone✬ Pray for the dead</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Title and description from Bring Me The Horizon's song [Crucify Me](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UZl03hHhIgA).

 

 This is a standalone ficlet. It is not connected to any of my other works in any way whatsoever. 

 

 _**TRIGGER WARNING. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.** _

 


	2. And You Say That You Can Save Me

Blood isn’t fun, Gerard’s learned. He feels better for .002 seconds, and then it all blows up in his face and he feels disgusting and ashamed.

Blood is insistent too, clinging to his skin, the sheets, everything, staining it a harsh, rusty color. Hiding the evidence, he’s noticed, is even  _less_  fun.

Gerard’s fucked up, and he knows it. He just…. _can’t_ anymore. It all hurts. Everything. Fucking  _breathing_  hurts.

He’s so far gone, and he’s scared, he’s fucking  _terrified_ he’s never gonna come back. This is bad, so bad.

But he’s figured out how to keep it under wraps. Of course it slips through sometimes, but then he grabs it and pulls it right back in. No one needs to know. He’ll just drag them down.

Mikey cares, of course he does, he’s Gerard’s baby brother, but he doesn’t understand. That’s the catch. There’s always a catch. Either they care, and they don’t understand, or they understand, but couldn’t give less of a fuck.

Whichever way, Gerard is alone.

Very, very alone.

✬✬✬

Everyone knows that high school is hell. It’s just a fact.

But there’s different levels of hell, and Gerard has managed to discover the deepest one. His body is bruised and tired and more and more purple-blue-red splotches are being added to it with each passing period.

You would think that teachers had a fucking clue, or that they’d get one. Sadly, that isn’t the case, even though anti-bullying posters cover every square inch of the school hallways and once every trimester a video is shown portraying why you should speak up if you are bullied.

Gerard can make a video about why you  _shouldn’t_ speak up. Actually, it wouldn’t be a video. It’d be a picture, just one, a singular, clear shot of his torso. And that’s the damage without tattling.

No one likes a snitch. Snitches get their asses beat, and Gerard doesn’t want to go to the hospital for broken ribs again. The nurses are starting to doubt his usual cover stories, although it probably doesn’t help that he only has three, and he keeps rotating through them.

Gerard is brought back from his thoughts by the hand fisted in his hair tightening and slamming his face into the closed locker once more. His nose is bleeding profusely, and there’s a cut above his eyebrow and one at the crown of his head that’s running blood down his forehead and into his eyes, blurring his vision with a sticky crimson mess.

Honestly, he isn’t sure  _why_  he’s being bullied so much. He’s always kept his head down and his mouth shut, and he’s pretty sure he hasn’t purposefully made any enemies. Then again, this is  _high school_. Everyone hates everyone and everything for no apparent reason, and all their frustrations are exorcised in the most violent forms their brains can think of.  One of the most common forms happens to be the abuse and torture of their classmates.

Blurred black and white stars are starting to appear at the edges of Gerard’s vision. Internally, he braces himself for the last excruciating blow and then the deep unconsciousness that usually follows.

True to his predictions, his face meets the blood-coated locker once more before it all goes black and Gerard can’t feel anymore.

✬✬✬

When he wakes up, he isn’t at school anymore. For a moment, he’s disoriented. He has no fucking clue where he is, until he sees the familiar Misfits poster tacked to the wall and realizes that the blankets beneath him smell like that gross body spray his brother insists on using.

God bless Mikey.

Gerard breathes in deep and then flinches. Ribs. Fucking ribs. He hopes absent mindedly that they aren’t broken or fractured, not that that makes a difference. Gritting his teeth, he flips over onto his stomach and cuddles up with the pillow, hoping to find some solace in sleep.

✬✬✬

Rest is a lost cause. Nightmares plague his mind for far too long before he washes back into a hazy consciousness. Gerard wants nothing more than to sleep a dreamless, empty sleep and never wake up.

But since when has he gotten what he wanted?

Gerard pushes himself up into a sitting position and winces. His head fucking  _hurts_. There’s a mirror in the bathroom down the hall, he remembers, and drags himself out of bed to go inspect the damage.

Immediately upon seeing his reflection, he almost wishes he hadn’t looked. The cut on the crown of his head is  _nasty_ , blood encrusted around the sight of the wound and the wound itself leaving Gerard wondering if he’s going to need stitches. He traces his finger idly across the cut directly above his eyebrow. It doesn’t look  _too_  bad, if he cleans it up a little it should heal just fine.

He turns on the faucet and grabs a washcloth from the towel rack behind him.  Fiddling with the hem of his shirt for a moment, he decides he’d rather not get this one more bloody than it already is and pulls it over his head with a tremendous amount of pain and effort.

In this state, he can see the damage done to his chest stunningly well. Gently prodding them, he thinks for a flicker of a second that his chest looks like a piece by Jackson Pollock. Violent blues, greens, reds, yellows and purples are gracelessly splattered across his frame, and Gerard thinks the artist would have appreciated the current hues that make up his battered body. 

Gerard shakes the thought from his mind and dips the washcloth beneath the cool water. Water runs down his wrist and face as he gently dabs at his wounds, doing his best to clean them before he locates some decent Band-Aids and covers them.

Watered down blood slides down the bridge of his nose, and he squints at his reflection in disgust. He silently damns his inability to fight the assholes off. 

Shockwaves of pain course through his face when he presses a little too hard on the deeper of the two wounds, and with those shockwaves comes an intense upsurge of self-hatred.

Negativity floods his mind. He wants to die. He wants to stop having to hurt like this, he doesn’t want to be this ugly anymore, he wants to be strong, and he wants to be  _loved_.

Gerard breathes a weak hearted insult into the otherwise silent room and collapses against the wall, letting the sobs ravage his body.

✬✬✬

For the second time in the day, Gerard wakes up disoriented from having passed out  _again_. Fucking  _weak_. No wonder he gets his ass beat.

Once again, Mikey has been his savior. The chorus of  _weak_  from inside his brain increases in volume. Saved by his baby brother, how fucking  _pathetic_. It should be the other way around.

Mikey must have dressed him, because Gerard’s bloodied jeans have been replaced with sweatpants, and he isn’t wearing a shirt.  _Weak, weak, weak, pathetic_.

He’s a burden, a useless weight no one needs or wants and he should just down that bottle of pills and get it the fuck over with. People will be happier without him.

Mikey’s soft voice breaks his internal berating hate speech.

“Gee? You awake?”

Gerard breathes in and winces again.  _Goddamn ribs_.

“Yeah, I am. Thanks for bringing me home.” He directs his gaze upward and is met with his brother’s small, sweet smile.

“Well, you weren’t gonna get yourself here. You wanna watch a movie, or something?” Mikey asks, dropping the topic about Gerard’s current state completely.

Gerard would guess that Mikey avoids all confrontations about how his brother is hurt because he’s scared. Mikey is the luckier one out of the two of them in the social aspect. He’s surrounded by friends and girls and is close to the top of the social ladder. Gerard, however, is at the very bottom, maybe even  _below_  the bottom. If Mikey acknowledged Gerard’s presence in a social setting it would be suicide. Gerard was okay with being ignored by Mikey, as long as it meant Mikey wasn’t getting hurt like this. As long as Mikey was safe, nothing mattered.

“Definitely. You pick, I’m too tired.” He responds at last.

Mikey flashes him the same small smile from before and walks over to the disorganized pile of DVDs next to the TV.

The movie Mikey chooses is some horror movie they’ve both seen a million times. They’ve seen it enough that neither of them care enough to even remember the name.

“Mikes….. I’m gonna sleep. ‘M tired.” Gerard mumbles about three quarters of the way through the movie, his already quiet voice muffled by the pillow.

“Okay. I’ll wake you up before I leave for that party thing someone invited me to.”

“Good plan.”

✬✬✬

It is well into the early, early hours of the morning when Mikey nudges Gerard awake.

“I’m leaving now, will you be okay?”

Gerard wants to beg Mikey to stay. He wants to cling to Mikey’s arm like he is the younger brother and plead not to be left alone, he wants to tell Mikey that all he wants is to take all the pills in the house and drink until he blacks out, but he doesn’t. Instead, he says a quiet ‘yeah’ and watches Mikey’s lanky frame walk out of the room and tries not to sob when he hears the front door close.

He lays on his back for a moment, eyes glassy and out of focus, lost in his head. For a long while, he tries to resist the call of the blades he’d so carefully hidden, but the feeling of worthlessness and disgust overpowered any rational thought he may have ever possessed.

So really, it’s no wonder he finds himself swearing quietly and trying to mop up blood with an old t-shirt. He didn’t exactly  _remember_  doing it. He remembers before, when he briefly considered scavenging up some booze and pills to take instead, and he remembers after, when he legitimately wondered how much it would hurt to throw himself out the second-story window.

His eyelids feel agonizingly heavy and his head is spinning from the blood loss. Sleep isn’t necessary yet, he has to stay awake, has to make sure Mikey was okay, has to, has to…..

Caught in a tidal wave of black, sleep pulls him under against his will.  _You’re exhausted_ , a rational part of his mind says,  _you’ve had a really rough day. A little more sleep won’t kill you._

But it could. Oh god, it could.

✬✬✬

When Mikey comes back, he doesn’t come back alone. Gerard’s first thought is that he’s  going to fuck the person he brought back, but then he hears Mikey’s signature ‘condescending tone’. Whoever he’s with is more than likely a friend.

Gerard debates about whether he should leave Mikey’s room so he and his friend can be alone (like hell they’d wanna hang out with Mikey’s bloodied-up loser of a big brother). The wounds win over, however, when he goes to move and his head pounds and his entire body felt like it’d been thrown beneath a bus.

Their voices grew closer. Gerard began to panic, worried out of his mind that the friend Mikey had brought back was going to be one of the assholes that beat on him at school.

The doorknob turns and his pulse shoots upwards.

“Gee? Hey, Gee. Wake up.” Mikey says, gently shaking his shoulder, unaware that his brother was actually already mostly conscious. He does his best to channel his inner movie star and pretends to wake up.

“Hey, Mikes. What – What time is it?” Gerard asks, rubbing his eyes to get them to adjust to the darkness.

“Like, five in the morning. That’s not important though, what is important is the fucking dumbass that I call a friend. He got himself a little lot fucked up, and ah, the people that were at the party weren’t the most… reliable, if you get what I mean. So I took his sorry ass home with me. His name’s Frank. Say hi, Frank.”

Gerard looks at Mikey’s significantly smaller companion. The most distracting things about his appearance, Gerard immediately notices, are his two piercings. One on the nose, one on the lip. Admittedly, the rest of Frank is distracting too, but what captures Gerard’s attention the most is the lip ring, and how it might feel if he kissed him.

No. No way in  _fuck_  was he going to do this right now. This is probably one of his worst ideas, right next to the ‘staying alive’ one.

“Hello, Mikey’s brother. Your face is all…. Hurted. Mikey, why is your brother’s face all hurted?” Frank asks, tugging on Mikey’s sleeve like a child.

“What the hell did he take?” Gerard asks, looking at Frank, then Mikey, with shock and confusion.

Mikey shrugs. “A little bit of everything, I think. That’s why I brought him here. If I had left him at the party, by now he’d be drugged out of his skull and probably with some dude that should never be trusted.”

Gerard lets a small smile slip across his face. “You’re a good friend, Mikey.”

“Yeah, Mikeyway. You’re a good friend. Goooood friend.” Frank agrees, rubbing his face on Mikey’s shoulder.

Mikey sighs heavily. “Do we have any stuff around that we could sober him up with?”

“Uh,” Gerard thinks for a moment, “We have a shower that runs cold water. We have coffee, and beds.”

“Bed? Beeeeed!” Frank chimes in, wrestling a little bit in Mikey’s hold before breaking free and diving onto the bed next to Gerard.

Gerard  _does not_  squeak in surprise. He  _doesn’t_. Rather, he scoots  _silently_ away from Frank until his back is pressed against the wall, giving Frank more than three quarters of the bed. Mikey looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I’ll give him the whole bed when I remember how to move.”

Mikey’s eyebrow elevates more.

“Have you seen the state my body is in? I’m surprised I’m breathing successfully.” Gerard retorts, raising his arms in exasperation the best he can.

Frank flops over to face Gerard. “Your chest is hurted too? Lemme see.” Frank says, yanking the comforter down, successfully exposing Gerard’s nearly bruised beyond recognition chest.

His eyes were wider than dinner plates as he drank in Gerard’s image. Gerard’s hands twitch and grab at the blanket, moving to pull it back over his chest. Frank grabs his wrists and holds them away from his body so he can look, really  _look_  at the extent of the damage done to Gerard.

Frank releases Gerard’s wrists and flops back over to look at Mikey. “Your brother is really, really hurted. I don’t like it. I’m gonna fix it. Or you should. Fix it, Mikeyway. Fix it or I’m gonna.”

Mikey can only shake his head at Frank’s huge doe eyes. “I don’t think I can.”

Frank pouts. “Of course you can. You’re Mikey fuckin’ Way.”

“And you’re really, really intoxicated. Go to sleep Frankie, I promise I’ll take care of Gee.”

“Gee? That’s your name? That’s a good name. I like that name. Gee.” Frank says, turning his head to face Gerard. “Gee,” He whispers one more time. His eyelashes flutter closed and Mikey stays next to Frank, watching his chest rise and fall evenly.

As soon as they’re sure Frank is asleep, Mikey shuffles over to the end of the bed by Gerard’s feet.

“Can you sit up?” Mikey asks. Gerard nods weakly, and pushes himself into a sitting position, resisting the spinning of the room.

Mikey reaches out, arms widespread, and Gerard crawls weakly into them. He helps Gerard delicately to his feet, a palm flat against the small of his back, trying to help him stand.

When Gerard gets his feet finally stable on the ground, the next challenge is getting downstairs and into the basement. There’s a moment where Mikey actually considers just carrying his brother, it’s not like he weighs anything anyway, but Gerard protests, saying he weighs too much and will break Mikey. That isn’t true at all. Mikey lets it slide however, because he’s a good person and neither of them are really up for an argument about self-imagery right now.

Mikey acts as Gerard’s human shadow as they descend the steps into the basement, keeping a hand attached to his waist or shoulder throughout the entire ordeal.

Slogging their way through the train wreck that is the basement is another problem entirely. Once more, Mikey really thinks about carrying his brother, but Gerard denies his help, again. Eventually, they make it to Gerard’s bed. Mikey watches closely, trying to gauge his brother’s pain, as Gerard disappears beneath the covers.

 Much like with Frank, Mikey stays by Gerard’s side until his breathing evens out and he is completely asleep.

Mikey tiptoes upstairs, sliding back into his room as quiet as he possibly can. Frank is still out cold, and Mikey slides in next to him, knowing Frank won’t mind sharing a bed with him for the night.

Sleep doesn’t come quickly, though. No, his brain has to stay abuzz with the worst kind of thoughts. He’s got a severely fucked up brother who he can’t help and a best friend who’s practically in the same place.

 _Christ_ , he thinks,  _what am I supposed to do_?

The answer never comes. Rest drowns him before he can elaborate on the thought any farther.

✬✬✬

When Frank wakes up, he’s confused and has one motherfucker of a hangover. He remembers vaguely whatever it was he took, and then he remembers Mikey bringing him home.

_Shit, did they fuck?_

Frank does a quick mental scan, assessing where he hurts, and his ass isn’t one of them.

 _Unless Mikey bottomed_ , his brain whispers. His concerns are put to rest when he sees that he’s still fully clothed, and so is Mikey.

 _Thank god._  

He remembers a little more, too. Some boy with dark hair and a lot of bruises. A lot of  _bad_  bruises. Frank passes him off as just a drug induced dream character. A really pretty drug induced dream character.

For a moment, Frank considers getting up and finding food. He decides against it, however, when Mikey makes snuffly noises next to him. The glaring red numbers of the alarm clock situated by the bed declare that it is just past noon, and he decides that he is a teenager and can go back to sleep if he fucking wants to.

So he does.

✬✬✬

Gerard’s body is being torn apart by wolves. And when he says torn apart, he means fucking  _torn apart_. His skin is being peeled off his body, his limbs are being chewed right off his torso and it hurts. It  _hurts_. 

Just as the wolves start to sink their teeth into his neck, his body jolts violently from his sleep. It takes him a second to realize what woke him up, and when it hits him he rolls his eyes and groans.

“Get back here you tiny little shit!” Comes Mikey’s shout. The cackle in response  _has_ to be Frank’s. A few thumps and crashes accompany more weightless insults and the same maniac laughter.

Gerard decides his brother and his brother’s friend are annoying as all fuck. He also decides, practically simultaneously, that the sound of laughter (whether it be evil or not) is a welcome noise.

Skin stretches and throbs as he tries to sit up again.  _Stupid fucking ribs_. The bruises pulsate and Gerard is forced to consider whether or not he needs a hospital trip.

Remembering how many zeroes the last visit’s bill had makes that decision for him. He’s fine. He’ll be fine.

It takes him a full ten minutes to figure out what fucking day of the week it is. Once he figures out it’s a Saturday, he practically sobs with relief.

“Motherfucker!” Mikey shouts again, his voice startlingly closer. Gerard has a brief moment of panic that only swells higher when the door to the basement opens.

 _In, out. Oxygen gets to your brain by breathing,_ he reminds himself. The whole breathing thing isn’t as difficult when it’s just Mikey walking down the stairs.

“Morning, sunshine. How do you feel?” he asks.

“Like I was thrown beneath a bus. How are you and Frank shouting and yelling and shit? Shouldn’t at least one of you be really hung over?” Gerard inquires, mystified by his brother’s capability to be coherent and functioning this early in the day….. Evening, he realizes, when the clock on the wall proves to him that his brother does not have magic powers and just slept the whole day, like Gerard apparently just did.

“Well yeah, Frank’s says he had one earlier in the day but its ‘gone now’ because he slept. I think he’s a liar, but he’s okay enough that he’s eating all our food and being the most annoying person on the planet.”

“Hey, I heard that Mikey! Who’re you talking to down here, anyway, yourself? That isn’t healthy – Oh. Um. Hi.”

Frank appears at the bottom of the basement steps, cheeks a gentle shade of pink and hands shoved in his pockets. Gerard is sure, that if he wasn’t practically paralyzed right now, he’d look the same way, or very close to it.

“Frank, this is Gerard, my brother. You two met last night, but  _somebody_  was drugged off their ass,” Mikey says, sending the best death glare he has at Frank, “So they probably don’t remember it.”

Frank presses a hand against his chest in mock offense. “I’m appalled at you, Mikey.  I  _remember_. Kind of.”

“See, there it is. You  _kind of_  remember. For all you know  _Gerard_ was the one giving you drugs.”

Frank snorts. “Yeah fucking right. If he sold drugs I’m pretty sure I would’ve known by now.”

Gerard forces his voice to work for a fraction of a second.

“You don’t have to worry, I don’t sell drugs, although some right now would be nice.”

It’s as if that sentence brings Mikey back to his head. He practically jumps up from the bed and rushes to the bathroom in the basement, throwing open multiple cabinets and muttering to himself.

“There’s, ah, movies over there if you wanna put one in so we can watch one.You can go ahead and sit on the couch too.” Gerard says to Frank. He can feel the definite blush spreading across his cheeks.

Dammit.

Mikey, as always, is his savior.

“Here’s some weird pain pill shit, and some water, and some whatever the fuck this is, it says it helps with sore throats.” Mikey says, dropping a few pills into Gerard’s hand and passing him a glass of water.

“My throat doesn’t hurt though.” Gerard protests in confusion. Mikey’s glare silences any further inquiries and Gerard takes the pills without any more questions.

“I’m going to go get you something to eat, don’t like, die or something while I’m gone.” Mikey says as he pivots on his heel and walks back upstairs.

Gerard directs his attention to the movie on the screen. Frank has picked one of the shittiest documentaries Gerard will even admit he owns. It’s something about aliens and government cover-up, and it’s one of those things that’s so bad it’s funny.

Frank breaks the silence.

“You know, I do remember a bit from last night.”

He doesn’t realize his heart is hammering until he starts to hear it in his ears. Forcing himself to speak, he replies. “Yeah? What do you remember?”

Frank leans his head back, making upside down eye contact with Gerard.

“I remember a pretty boy, and bruises.”

 _Oh_. Gerard subconsciously pulls the blanket close around his chest. He watches Frank’s adam’s apple bob as he swallows, and the question that comes out of Frank’s mouth next throws Gerard completely off track.

“Can I see how bad they are?” Frank asks.

Against all his better judgment, Gerard nods.

He watches Frank semi-gracefully sling himself over the back of the couch and stand over Gerard.  Gerard is lying flat on his back, eyes wide and locked with Frank’s.

Gently, he pushes back the cover, revealing his chest once more to Frank.

Frank’s breath hitches in a sharp gasp. He sinks into the mattress next to Gerard, fingers gently touching the edges of the worst of them.

“I meant what I said, you know.”

Gerard is very confused. “About what?” he replies.

“About fixing you. I meant it.”  Frank says, fingers stilling over Gerard’s heart.

The most Gerard can offer is a small smile, shoving the words that want to escape his lips back.

 _I can’t be fixed_ , Gerard wants to say,  _I’m a lost cause_. 


	3. Don't Hope To Ever Find Me

**I’M NOT FUCKING KIDDING TRIGGER FUCKING WARNING**

Frank becomes a near permanent fixture in Gerard’s life. Whenever Mikey is home, so is Frank. Apparently, Frank is Mikey’s best friend. That really throws Gerard for a loop, because every single one of Mikey’s friends Gerard has ever met is evil. Frank isn’t evil. He’s actually the exact opposite. Frank is kind, and sweet, and funny, and is most definitely not out to hurt Gerard.

Gerard spends a lot more time than usual hanging out with Mikey and Frank, watching movies and playing video games.  He’s almost sad when Mikey ignores him at school in the days after their horror movie marathons and comic book binge fests, but then he remembers what would happen if Mikey didn’t ignore him. So he disciplines himself. Mikey is his brother at home, and at school Mikey is a stranger. If it was to be any other way, Mikey may be worse off than Gerard.

Frank doesn’t know anything about how Mikey ignores him at school. That may have something to do with the fact that Frank doesn’t go to the same school as Gerard and Mikey. He goes to a Catholic school on the other side of town, and because he doesn’t even have the slightest clue about the staggering difference in the social dynamics between the two brothers, he’s unreasonably kind to Gerard.

He also happens to be very affectionate. Frank will use Mikey as a human pillow, or cuddle up close to Gerard during a movie. And when Gerard says  _cuddle_ , he means that Frank curls himself around Gerard, pressing up against him completely, Frank’s chest against his back and Frank’s knees curled in behind the tops of Gerard’s thighs, a hand generally splayed over Gerard’s heart, or sometimes entangled with Gerard’s own hand.

Truthfully, Gerard doesn’t know what to make of this. He thinks (who is he kidding, he  _knows_ ) he doesn’t deserve Frank’s warmth and affection. He deserves to be ignored and shunned. Gerard isn’t worthy, isn’t worthy of being treated like Frank’s equal. Frank is perfect, and gentle, and Gerard isn’t any of those things. He’s abrasive and disgusting.

But because he’s Frank, he’s determined to conceal Gerard in a cocoon of kindness he doesn’t feel he’s worthy of.

Frank, it happens, is more relentless than the voices telling him to blow his brains out. Every time he and Gerard happen to be alone, he scoots himself back so he can face Gerard and makes him lift up his shirt so Frank can see how well the bruises are healing. He says meaningless, empty shit about how he’s sorry Gerard has to hurt like this, and how pretty he is. Sometimes Frank will rub his knuckles gently against Gerard’s cheek and look at him with wide eyes full of wonder and astonishment, and Frank will let a word fall out of his lips. Every time he does, Gerard has to resist the urge to cringe.

The thing is, the voices are right when it comes to his appearance. Gerard knows he’s ugly, and he doesn’t appreciate Frank’s lying. But he doesn’t show it, he doesn’t want to hurt Frank’s feelings. Then he’d  _really_  have to kill himself.

One day, he asks Mikey about it, about why Frank insists on calling him those words. Mikey just shrugs.

“It’s how Frank is,” he says. “He just wants to help.”

Help. Someone wants to  _help_  Gerard. He concludes that this is why Frank is so bent on ‘fixing’ him. Frank doesn’t mean what he says, and never has. He never will.

_Fucking kill yourself. Now. You’re so pathetic. People have to **help**  you. People  **pity**  you_.  _Disgusting_.

Gerard shakes his head like that will silence the voices and wipes away the tears blurring at the edge of his vision. He drags himself back into reality.

He’s alone in the house for once. Frank and Mikey are out doing god knows what, and all Gerard can concentrate on is the draw and appeal of the sleeping pills that he knows are in the cupboard above the kitchen sink.

“Fuck it,” he mutters into the empty house. Gerard grabs a pen and a sheet of paper before he marches determinedly upstairs.  

It’s dark out, well past nine in the evening. His mother had left for the graveyard shift at the hospital shortly after Gerard and Mikey got home from school, heating up some leftover lasagna and shouting her goodbye down the basement stairs before she left.

His mom isn’t really ever around, and his dad left them when they were small. Gerard just barely remembers him, and all Mikey’s ever known about their dad comes from stories and faded pictures.

In all honesty, it pisses Gerard the fuck off that their dad left them. He left without a word, without a clue left behind. All they know is he took all his clothes and his car and was just… gone. He put Gerard and Mikey to bed the night before and then just  _left_  the next morning before anyone was awake. It baffles Gerard that someone could just do that, that someone could have a wife and children and then just  _leave_  them like they never even mattered.

He scribbles out a note furiously, offering next to no explanation as to what he’s about to do. Gerard basically bullshits his way through the note like a science test he was unprepared for before he reaches above the sink and grabs the bottle of sleeping pills. He opens the bottle and dumps them gracelessly on the counter and counts them.

“One, two, twenty, fifty, three hundred and ninety-seven, five hundred.”

Satisfied with the number, which he admits he may have miscounted, he gathers the pills into his hand and tosses them into his mouth. He holds them there while he fills a large glass with water and washes the plethora of pills back with one swallow, a chalky aftertaste settling in his mouth.

_And now comes the fun part_ ……..

Gerard drops to the floor of the kitchen and lets his back rest against the cabinets. In the back of his mind, he wonders how long it will be before the pills kicked in, and he wonders how long it will be before Mikey and Frank, or worse, his  _mother_  get back. He wonders if his dad will find it in himself to care enough to come to his funeral, or if he’s forgotten he ever even had sons.

It could have been a few minutes, it could have been an hour, but the idea stops mattering when the room begins to spin and Gerard can feel his stomach churning.

He concentrates on not being sick. He  _has_  to keep these down.

The room begins to spin faster and Gerard progressively feels his consciousness sliding away from him.

Even though his stomach hurts terribly, even though he’s so dizzy he can’t keep his eyes open, Gerard sighs contentedly. It’s finally over.

That is, until someone shouts his name and suddenly his body is moving.

He wants to protest, he wants to tell the person to stop and that if they keep moving him he’ll throw up and his plan will be ruined.

Suddenly, he’s cold, freezing cold. Water. The person is dumping lots of cold water on him, but it’s constant, too constant to be a bucket or something else.  _Shower_ , Gerard’s hazy brain supplies, as his ‘rescuer’ forces his mouth open and shoves their fingers down his throat.

He tries to wiggle away from the person, but his body won’t move. It’s like there’s immensely heavy weights tied to each of his limbs, his mouth, even his eyelids.

“Oh god,” They say, and Gerard’s brain scrambles. The voice sounds like it belongs to Frank, but it’s too far away to belong to the person that is currently holding him beneath the cold water.

“I know, I know,” That’s Mikey’s voice trying to soothe someone. Is….. Are they both here? Are both Mikey and Frank here? “C’mon, Gerard, c’mon. Please.” Mikey pleads again.

 “Mikey, I want to call 911,” Frank says, confirming Gerard’s suspicions. 

“No, Frankie. I can take care of this. Gerard, Gerard can you hear me? C’mon, throw them up, come on.”

Mikey jams his fingers down his throat again and Gerard’s stomach lurches. His brother’s knees press closer to the small of his back and Mikey repeats the action. This time, Gerard vomits. Rather violently, he might add.

And he doesn’t stop for what feels like forever. It just keeps coming and coming, the bile burning his mouth and throat.

Eventually, it comes to a stop, Gerard’s chest heaving.

“Gee? Hey, can you hear me?”

Gerard tries to make his mouth work, he tries to form words, but he can’t. Fuck.

Instead, Mikey laces their fingers. “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

For a moment, tension hangs in the air while Gerard summons the strength. It’s a weak squeeze, just a gentle tightening of Gerard’s hand, and that’s it, that’s all of his strength. Mikey’s body relaxes against his and an exhale of relief fans across the back of his neck.

“He’s alive,” Mikey says, presumably to Frank, and Gerard allows himself to slip into a sleep that won’t bring death.

Gerard will admit that he’s disappointed.

✬✬✬

He doesn’t know how much time has passed since he blacked out. All he knows is that he’s awake again, and someone is gently pressing a cool cloth across his face.

The thought of opening his eyes is daunting. He’d been ready to die, he had been okay with never opening his eyes again, with never seeing the world again.

Besides, he doesn’t know whether his eyes will even open or not. They feel like they’re glued shut, and the same can be said for his mouth.

“Gee? Are you awake?”

Frank.

Oh boy.

Gerard gathers all his strength and forces himself to open his eyes.

The lights are harsh against his eyes, all he wants is to just sink back into the bed and sleep. Despite what he wants, he makes himself stay awake and looks at Frank’s face. There’s a whirlpool of emotion written across his features, fear, concern, shock and… something else. Something Gerard isn’t really familiar with, hasn’t ever been familiar with.

“You motherfucker,” Frank says, tossing the cloth to the side and pulling Gerard against his chest, holding on to him like if he lets go Gerard will disappear forever.

Gerard is at a loss. He doesn’t know how to respond, and he’s a little too weak to hug back. But Frank seems perfectly content to just hold him, so Gerard lets him.

Frank’s breathing is shaky against Gerard’s ribcage. When Frank speaks again, his voice is strained and quivering, like he wants to cry.

“Don’t…. Don’t ever do that to me again. Jesus  _Christ_ ,” He says, and pulls Gerard impossibly closer, a hand entangling itself in Gerard’s damp black hair. For a moment, Gerard can trick himself into thinking Frank is pressing a kiss to his temple.

“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” Frank says again. Gerard gathers his strength and brings his arms up to wrap them around the younger boy, awed at the way Frank’s body immediately caves into his touch.

Frank pulls away to cup Gerard’s face in his hands. He calls him that word again, and this time, this time Gerard flinches.

Confusion flits across Frank’s face.

“You don’t believe me when I say that, do you?” He says, rubbing the pads of his thumbs across Gerard’s cheekbones.

Gerard looks down. He doesn’t want to look Frank in the eyes when he answers.

“No.”

A small, sad smile slides onto Frank’s face.

“Well, you are,” Frank says, leaning his forehead against Gerard’s, bringing his hands away from Gerard’s face to encase his hands. “Beautiful.”

Gerard shakes his head and nuzzles his face into Frank’s shoulder. “I’m really not.”

“You can go ahead and believe that for right now.” Frank whispers in response, moving his arms to once again curl them protectively around Gerard.

“Why would you do this?” Frank says, rubbing his thumb tenderly on the back of Gerard’s neck.

Gerard shrugs. He really doesn’t have too good of an answer. Well, he sort of does, but Frank is going to hate it.

“No, really. Gerard, what made you do this?” Frank says insistently.

Gerard shrugs again. He doesn’t want to say. Ever.

“Gerard,” Frank says, hooking two fingers beneath Gerard’s chin to force him to look Frank in the eyes. “Why?”

He shrugs once more. “I don’t know.”

“That’s a  _lie_ ,” Frank spits, his fingers tightening around Gerard’s jaw to the point of pain. “ _Why_?”

Gerard whimpers and grabs Frank’s wrist. Frank doesn’t falter, rather, he tightens the pads of his fingers against the flesh of Gerard’s cheeks.

“I- I don’t  _know_! I don’t  _know_  Frankie, please, let me go.” Gerard says, a few tears wiggling free from beneath his eyelids.

_Should have fucking tried harder. You deserve to die. Look what you’ve done to Frank. **Look**. _  

“Oh, honey, oh. I’m so sorry, don’t cry, please.” Frank gathers Gerard back into his chest and rubs the flat of his palm up and down Gerard’s spine.  He shakes in Frank’s hold, tears jerking their way through his body. All Gerard can manage to do is cling to Frank like he’s the last life preserver on a sinking ship.

“I was scared,” Frank whispers into Gerard’s hair. “I don’t want to lose you, Gee.”

Gerard pulls his face from Frank’s shoulder to stare at him in wonder.

“Why?” He asks. “I’m nothing special. There are thousands of people like me, and there are even more people that are a better person than I am. I’m not-“

Gerard is cut off by the gentle press of Frank’s lips against his own.  His head (his  _heart_ ) scrambles. He presses into the kiss, ignoring his inner mantra of  _oh god oh god oh god what am I doing oh god_  and just letting Frank kiss him.

When they finally pull apart for air, Frank touches his cheekbone yet again.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispers, like those six words hold every answer in the universe. Gerard can’t resist leaning into his touch.

✬✬✬

When Mikey sees that Gerard is awake, he doesn’t offer more than a hug and a small smile.

Unfortunately, Mikey has seen him at his worst, which happens to be more drastic than this. He’s helped Gerard through an overdose before, but Frank doesn’t know that. That is probably for the best.

Mikey brings him a glass of water and mutters things to himself about checking for a fever and getting him something to eat. Gerard just nods and complies.

Frank refuses to let Gerard go, not even when he calls his mom to stay he is going to be staying the weekend at Gerard and Mikey’s and yes, their mom is fine with it, no, he won’t need a change of clothes, he can just take some of Mikey’s.

Oddly enough, Mikey doesn’t question Frank’s clinginess. It makes Gerard wonder if Mikey knows something he doesn’t, and because it’s Mikey he’s talking about here, that is more than likely true. Mikey has this…  _way_  of coaxing people into opening up to him. Maybe it’s because he’s so quiet, or because he just  _looks_  like someone you could trust. Gerard is probably being a little lot biased here, because this is his brother and he already has an unreasonable amount of trust in him. He just has to settle with the fact that Mikey  _has_  to know something he doesn’t.

Gerard is still thrown off by how Frank kissed him.  _Frank_  kissed  _him_.

Butterflies  _do not_  rise up in his stomach. He  _does not_  feel a little dizzy. He  _does not_  lean further into Frank’s hold.

✬✬✬

It’s a little bit past midnight and Frank hasn’t slept at all. Instead, he’s been watching over Gerard, keeping the fingers of his left hand laced around Gerard’s wrist so he can track his pulse, the palm of his right hand spread flat across Gerard’s heart.

_He’s alive. He’s okay. He’s alive. He’s alive._

Frank keeps repeating that to himself, but he doesn’t believe it unless he’s holding Gerard. He knew Gee was getting bad, but the idea that he was  _this_  bad…… Frank doesn’t want to think about it.

“I don’t know if you really understand,” Frank whispers into Gerard’s hair. Gerard snuffles against his chest, and Frank smiles. “I can’t…. I can’t lose you. I just…. can’t.”

Frank pulls Gerard impossibly closer against him. He shoots a glance across the room in the general direction of where Mikey crashed.

Frank has tried to explain to Mikey how he feels, but there doesn’t appear to be any words in the English language that can peg down exactly what it is he feels for Gerard.

At first, he expected Mikey to be pissed that Frank had a crush on his older brother. But to his relief, Mikey being Mikey, he just shrugged.

“I think you would be good for him. Just don’t hurt him more than he already is, okay? Because if you do, I will fucking kill you. I’m serious, Iero.”

So Frank proceeds to waste away boring classes running through a mental list of all the words that could possibly describe what it is that flutters around his chest whenever he thinks about Gerard.

Of course, his idle-mindedness gets him a few glares and the occasional detention from the nuns, but Frank thinks it’s worth it. After all, ‘detention’ translates into ‘more time to read’, and Frank definitely does not intend to complain about that.

Frank doesn’t even really know what it is that lead him to develop… feelings for Gerard. He’s Mikey’s brother, a pretty boy with big eyes and bruises. It bothers Frank that he doesn’t really know for sure where those bruises came from. They’re brutal, the smallest ones the size of a softball. The very  _idea_  that someone would do that to Gerard makes Frank homicidal. He’ll fucking rip whoever did that to him to pieces.

He doesn’t realize he’s gripping Gerard’s wrist ridiculously tight until he hears Gerard whimper and stir quietly against him. Frank takes a few deep breaths, counts to ten and eases his grip.

Sleep is inevitable, he knows. He’s so exhausted, but he’s afraid that if he goes to sleep something bad will happen to Gerard.

His eyelids are beginning to burn, weighed down with the imminent need for rest.

He relents and wraps Gerard in his arms, their heartbeats pulsing in and out of sync and lulling Frank into darkness.

✬✬✬

Against Mikey and Frank’s wishes, Gerard goes to school on Monday. His chest hurts when he inhales deeply and he has issues with keeping larger amounts of food down, but like hell he’s going to miss school. He’s  _this_  close to failing the semester. Even though the school’s policy about ‘missing more than fifteen days of school in a semester is and automatic fail’ is a load of bullshit, he has to listen to it. He can’t escape this hellhole of a town if he fails his way through the rest of this year.

And that stupid fucking godforsaken policy is why he’s currently sitting at the back of the classroom, ignoring the old bat of an English teacher.

The most amusement Gerard can find in this class comes from the teacher. And it’s not because she’s a funny person, she isn’t, she  _really really_  isn’t, but it’s because of the nickname the students have given her.

The entire student body, and he means the  _entire student body_ , calls her ‘The Cow’.

No one really knows for sure who coined the nickname, but Gerard suspects it has something to do with her slightly rounded appearance. That, and the hundreds of cow posters and cow figurines that adorn her classroom.

The first time Gerard walked into her classroom, he thought it was some kind of senior prank, but when the room remained in that state for the rest of the first semester, Gerard knew it was for real. What also gave it away was when he caught her lovingly stroking one of the cow figurines.

Gerard wonders why the fuck this lady is a teacher if she clearly would rather be knee deep in cow shit. Fuck, cow shit has to smell better than a room full of unwashed sweaty teenagers.  _Gerard_  practically would rather be knee deep in cow shit.

He starts to doodle a little cow at the top corner of his notes. They’re covering something about Shakespeare, and Gerard has found himself bored as all fuck.  When the fuck in his life are  _iambic pentameters_  going to matter?

Gerard decides his cow doodle needs a friend. He starts to draw a zombie flower chewing on the doodle cow’s ankle, but he is interrupted by a sharp call of his name.

“Mr. Way? Can you answer the question for the class, please?”

His heart plummets through his stomach and proceeds to crash through the floor.

“Uh,” Gerard stumbles, “Could…. Could you repeat the question?”

Snickers and whispered jeers circulate the room. The Cow glares at him from above the glasses perched on the end of her pointy, crooked nose. “Thirty minutes detention, Mr. Way, served by the end of the week or it doubles.”

The jeers increase in volume, but quickly drop away when The Cow spreads a menacing glare across the room.

Gerard drops his head to the desk with a painful, heavy  _thunk_.

✬✬✬

Gerard gets home before Mikey. He figures he’s got about ten, twenty minutes to destroy himself. Not like last time, though, Frank would never forgive him, and neither would Mikey.

He settles for a…. less destructive form of destruction.  _Does that even make sense?_  He wonders.

It doesn’t, really, but he guesses it’ll do for now.

Gerard unzips his hoodie and drops it to the floor. He hangs his head and looks at the floor, feeling the guilt wash over and around him for what he’s about to do.

Before he’s truly even fully aware of what he’s doing, there’s a thin razorblade in his hand and the inside of his left wrist is stinging.

He ignores all reality and lets the world absorb him in bursts of pain, the echoes of jeers resounding throughout his empty head.

✬✬✬

Pulling the ruined dish towel tighter around his wrist and does his best to mop up the blade and the small droplets that wriggled their way to the sheets.

Everything comes crashing down around him when he hears the front door slam close and Mikey and Frank’s voices nearing the basement steps.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck **FUCK**_.

He scans the room in a panic before he sees his previously discarded jacket and pulls it on quickly, ignoring the way his blood sticky skin clings to the fibers of the jacket.

In haste, he throws the bloody dishrag across the room and into a pile of useless crap and tosses the blade haphazardly under his bed.

Gerard dives in to his bed and pulls the covers around his face, covering the stinging, sticky mess of his arm.

Just in time, it seems. Mikey and Frank open the basement door, talking loudly and animatedly, their laughter echoing down the stairwell.

“Hey, Gee. Frankie and I are gonna have a  _Halloween_  marathon. You in?” Mikey asks. Gerard runs his hands through his greasy hair and forces a hopefully believable smile.

“Hell yeah. Someone go make popcorn? I’m too tired to move.”

“Lazy ass princess.” Mikey says lovingly before he gets up to go make the popcorn, leaving Frank and Gerard alone in the basement.

As soon as they’re alone, Frank practically runs across the room and dives into Gerard’s bed, pulling him against Frank’s chest despite Gerard’s startled squawks.

Frank chants  _that word_  against Gerard’s temple. He realizes, most definitely too late, that Frank’s fingers are putting the slightest pressure against his stinging wrist, and he has to have realized what Gerard had done.

He does. Frank stops abruptly and rubs the pad of his index finger gently on Gerard’s wrist. Gerard whimpers and tucks his face into Frank’s shoulder.

He feels the sleeve of his jacket being slowly pulled back, and he feels Frank’s breath hitch in his chest.

Gerard expects a blow. He expects to be shoved away and yelled at.

What he doesn’t expect is to be held closer and to feel the gentle press of lips against his wrist.

Frank whispers that word again, and Gerard wants to respond, wants to tell Frank he’s wrong, didn’t he just see what made him ugly? But Mikey reappears then with two bowls full of popcorn, offers the entangled pair a cryptic-as-all-fuck smile, and says, “Let’s get this shit started, shall we?”

Gerard doesn’t find the time to tell Frank he’s wrong for the rest of the night. 


	4. And I Fear I'm Too Far Gone

**_Yo this part is stupid long just thought I should warn you_ **

Come morning, there’s a sliver of light filtering through the thin basement window, hardly illuminating the otherwise nearly pitch-black lower floor. Gerard is drifting in that delicate limbo between awake and asleep, the one thing keeping him there being the weight of his eyelids and the comforting sensation of Frank’s arm wrapped around his middle.

He flicks his half-open eyes wearily to the TV screen, wondering how many movies Frank and Mikey managed to watch before they fell asleep. Gerard had passed out just before they started the third _Halloween_ movie, vaguely aware of Mikey calling him weak and then saying something to Frank, something that had sounded a lot like ‘you two are so cute it’s disgusting’ or some shit like that. Gerard doesn’t really think Mikey said that, because the tone of voice Mikey was using was the one he used when he was teasing someone about their crushes. He had heard it used multiple times on Mikey’s friends, and a few times on himself, but never directed at Frank, and maybe Gerard’s reading into it a little too much, but the way Frank’s arm tightened around his waist and how Frank buried his face in the back of Gerard’s neck immediately after almost convinces him that Frank had been blushing, or something of a similar nature that required him to hide his face.

Gerard decides he’s probably reading into it too much. Nonetheless, Frank’s presence is more comforting than anything of any other volume. He feels impossibly safe next to Frank, like nothing in this world can touch him because Frank won’t let it, won’t ever let it.

It is possibly the oddest and most welcome feeling Gerard has ever fathomed in his short hell of a life.

Behind him, Frank makes these adorable snuffle noises and buries his face in Gerard’s hair, his fingers gripping the fabric at the bottom of Gerard’s t-shirt. He smiles lazily and cuddles back into Frank, letting his eyes droop down and allowing sleep to swallow him, feeling the safest he thinks he’s ever felt.

✬✬✬

Gerard dreams. Well, he doubts this actually qualifies as a dream, it’s really more of a nightmare, but that doesn’t matter. What does matter is the terrifying image of Frank’s bloody and mutilated body that his brain is plastering throughout his whole mind. Every twist and turn his nightmare takes is accompanied by the corpse of Frank in various bloody stages of death. Sometimes his body looks ashen, the wounds bloated and leaking strange fluids that in reality probably wouldn’t be there, but this is in his head. And he is determined to tear himself apart from the inside out.

Sometimes it looks like he’s just died, and Gerard had just barely missed the opportunity to save him. Those are the worst. Those are the ones where there are voices, empty, hallow, harrowing voices that yell at him for failing to save Frank. They tell him he’s weak, he’s worthless, that he’s all the words that have ever been thrown at him.

And the worst part, he supposes, is that he believes them.

Gerard is trapped in this dream. He can’t wake up. He keeps willing himself to wake up, keeps trying to come back into contact with his body, but it’s not working and he’s beginning to panic. Oh god, he doesn’t want this, he wants to wake up, please, _now_ , oh god, he’s sorry, so sorry—

And just like that, his mind and body abruptly reconnect, thanks to whatever is currently shaking him and pulling him up into a sitting position. Gerard doesn’t really realize he’s going to vomit until a trashcan is being shoved underneath his mouth and he’s upheaving everything he’s consumed in the last twenty-four hours (which isn’t much).

There’s a hand rubbing small circles into his back and presumably the voice belonging to the hand’s owner saying gentle and kind things that Gerard can hardly distinguish above the noise of his vomiting.

Finally, he manages to draw in shaky breaths without retching.  

Someone is taking away the trashcan and handing him a bottle of cool water, and another person, the one holding him up, is running a hand through his sweaty hair.

“What happened, Gee?” They’re asking. Gerard’s head spins and he grips onto their forearm in a weak attempt to steady himself.

“Bad dream. Don’t wanna talk about it,” He mutters, taking a long gulp of water and collapsing back against their chest, eyes once again weighted before the realization that he has school today barrels into him with so much force his eyes fly wide open.

“I have school today. Gotta get up. Can’t miss any more,” He says groggily and attempts to wriggle out of the person’s grasp. They don’t let him. If anything, they pull him closer.

“Mikey already took care of it. He called Bryar and sweet talked him into sneaking down into the office and marking all three of us as present on all the attendance sheets for the whole day. God bless your brother and his ability to manipulate Bryar by batting his eyelashes.” 

So Frankie is the one holding him.

 _Frankie_. Gerard twists around in his hold so he can bury his nose in Frank’s neck and revel in the heavy thud of his pulse against Gerard’s cheek and just _breathe_. _He’s alive_ , he tells himself, _Alive and here and **alive**_.

Frank mutters soothing nothings, rubbing his hand up and down Gerard’s upper arm, lips pressed against his forehead. Gerard hears a whimper, and it clicks a little too late that _he_ made that noise. He feels the blush creep across his cheeks and Frank drags Gerard into his lap.

“You wanna tell me what your dream was about? You don’t have to if you don’t wanna, of course,” Frank says against his temple. Gerard releases a shaky exhale.

His brain fights with itself for a few moments, weighing the pros and cons of telling Frank that his dream was about Frank dying, repeatedly. It disturbs _him_ , and he had the fucking dream, what the fuck is it gonna do to Frank?

 _Fuck it_ , he decides.  He takes a deep breath and just _says_ it.

“In my dream, you died. A lot. And people….. Voices…… kept telling me it was my fault. And I couldn’t wake up,” he says at last, chewing his lower lip and fiddling with the edges of his blanket, not wanting to look at Frank while he says this.

Frank goes still. Gerard’s brain begins to panic, supplying scenarios consisting of Frank shoving Gerard away, calling him names, leaving and never coming back. He _really_ doesn’t want that to happen, god, that’d be worse than never waking up.

As always, Frank does the exact opposite of what his brain assumes he’s going to do.

Frank shuffles them around until they’re lying horizontally, Gerard’s face tucked into Frank’s chest and encircled completely by Frank’s arms. With the way they are currently laying, Gerard can feel the steady beat of Frank’s heart, and he figures that this is the reason Frank moved them to this position. Gerard most definitely isn’t complaining, the steady pulsations of Frank’s heartbeat are an unfathomable comfort.

He doesn’t quite understand Frank’s constant need to hold him. He’s not opposed, although. Even if he’ll never admit it out loud, he really does like being held. It makes him feel protected, and that’s new to him, because he’s always on watch, always waiting for the next asshole to jump out and beat his body into the pavement.

Frank begins sliding his long fingers through Gerard’s dark hair, humming softly. Shivers bolt down Gerard’s spine, the vibrations from Frank’s vocal chords fluttering through his ribcage and leaving small, tickling kisses of noise across Gerard’s face, the tremors beating just out of time with Frank’s heart.

The sense of peace he feels is almost overwhelming. It feels as though the world has cracked and is dragging him into some world coated with a sky like black velvet and stars made of crystalized summer raindrops and it feels like _Frank_ created this world for him, created this entire alternate dimension so Gerard could feel safe.

Gerard huddles close against Frank’s body and thinks about that. He thinks about someone building a world with another person in mind, teaching the stars to shine just so, showing the light how to resonate with the water in an intricate glow, coaxing flowers and trees to grow to perfection, guiding the birds across the sky and teaching them new anthems.

He isn’t worth someone building a world for. Worlds should be built for kind people with a long life ahead of them and not some teenage boy blasting a whole through his own existence with hollow point bullets. People like Frank and Mikey deserve worlds. Gerard doesn’t, and probably never will.

“I can see your brain working in there,” Frank whispers against the top of his head. “Stop thinking about whatever you’re thinking about so hard.”

“Can’t,” Gerard whispers back. “My brain hates me.”

Gerard can feel the small smile pressed against his hair. “Well,” he says. “It should stop, because I don’t hate you.”

The blush creeping around Gerard’s cheeks is so red in color it could have easily blended in with the cheap rendition of blood on the cover of the horror movies stacked in a precarious pile not too far from the pair.  Frank is obviously distracted by it, and Gerard’s cheeks flush brighter, causing Frank’s smile to widen.

He whines in embarrassment and drops his head against Frank’s sternum, nuzzling like if he tries hard enough he could become invisible. This makes Frank laugh, and Gerard can’t resist letting a smile of his own slide across his face.

✬✬✬

Frank is fucking _screwed_. He thought that maybe he could manage to get over the little crush he has on Gerard, despite Mikey’s affirmation that he thinks he’d do Gerard some good. Frank figured that Gerard was pretty messed up and maybe, maybe he should back down.

But that notion was blasted to bits when Gerard had had that nightmare. In that moment, Frank wanted nothing more than to keep Gerard with him for the rest of forever and morals be damned, he wanted to be allowed to kiss him better.

He is _so fucking screwed_.  And it doesn’t fucking help that he’s currently got Gerard burrowing into his chest like an adorable little kitten.

_Jesus fucking Christ._

Aforementioned adorable kitten picks his head up off of Frank’s chest and looks at him quizzically. “Where’s Mikey?” Gerard asks.

“He went upstairs to take a shower and get coffee from that café down the road,” he responds. Gerard nods, deeming his response a plausible answer and cuddles back into Frank’s arms.

Frank doesn’t really know what it is about Gerard that makes him all clingy and shit. It’s not like this is exactly a new occurrence, Frank is constantly laying on Mikey or climbing up Bob’s shoulders and making him carry him places, but he’s never really been _this_ cuddly. He’ll do it sometimes to piss people off (particularly the guys that say ‘no homo’ every five seconds) and sometimes just because. Nonetheless, he snuggles Gerard like a koala made of Velcro.

 _What the hell are you doing to me Gerard Way_ , he thinks as he tugs Gerard impossibly nearer. _What the hell are you doing to me?_

✬✬✬

Mikey returns about twenty minutes later with coffee and a stupid knowing, teasing smile. Frank wants to smack it right off his face but he know Gerard really wouldn’t appreciate that, so he settles for glowering at him, even as he hands Frank his coffee.

They talk about meaningless, empty things while Mikey silently gauges how his brother is feeling. Gerard is still too tired to notice, but Frank notices. He watches Mikey measure his brother’s stability, Gerard being too tired to really notice Mikey’s scrutinizing gaze.  In under five minutes, Mikey appears to have soundlessly declared his brother’s stability (or lack thereof) tolerable for the time being.

Eventually, Frank and Mikey talk Gerard into taking a shower. Gerard whines and bitches his way through it, but after Mikey threatens to make him get his own coffee for the rest of his life he gets up and goes. Frank is silently relieved, even though Gerard is so fucking cuddly, it’s not all that easy to do when a fucking garbage can is beginning to smell better than him.

As soon as they are alone, Mikey fixes Frank with a look that is equally incriminating as it is questioning.

“What?” Frank asks, breaking the otherwise pristine silence.

“When are you going to tell him you like him?” Mikey says. Frank’s brain spins for an answer. He doesn’t really _like_ him, does he? The most he thinks is that Gerard is pretty, and sweet, and it pisses him the hell off that he’s getting hurt as badly as he is. It’s just a stupid little crush, it’s not anything more, and it’s more than likely never going to be.

“I’m not,” Frank responds at last.  Mikey scoffs.

“Yes you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

Mikey glares harshly at him. If looks could kill, Frank would be very, very dead.

“Then stop fucking with his feelings. He needs a fucking _support system_ , and if you’re just gonna sit on your ass and do _nothing_ then you can fucking leave. I told you not to hurt him goddammit, and you’re doing just that by not fucking _manning up and admitting you have emotions_.”

For a moment, he sees red. He brings himself down rapidly, however. He doesn’t really want to hurt Mikey.

Frank takes a deep breath and tries to see sense

“I’m fucking scared, okay?” He admits. “I don’t want to fuck him up even more. And we’re always out Mikey, getting high off our asses and if Gee needs a support system, then I think we should be looking somewhere else because you’d wind up taking care of the both of us, and you know that.”

Mikey sighs heavily.

“I know, I know. But we’re not _that_ bad _that_ often, are we?”

“You’re right, _we_ aren’t. But _I_ am.” Frank says, crossing his arms. This is the first time he’s really admitted that he may have a little bit of a problem. Oh, who the fuck is he kidding, it’s a little lot of a problem. He’s already getting the shakes from withdrawal, and who fucking knows from what drug. Someone hands it to him, he does it, the end. Mikey uses his brain and only drinks or only gets high, never both. Frank, however, is more often than not, an extreme combination of both forms of intoxication.

“Then detox, asshat. Gerard needs you to be all in one piece, because in case you haven’t noticed, you mean something to him. And _I_ need you all in one piece. I’m not going to let my best friend fucking _die_ because I didn’t say something. So here I am, saying something. Get clean, douchewad.”

Frank takes another deep breath and closes his eyes. He wonders how much detoxing is going to hurt.

✬✬✬

He learns the answer to that question within the next three weeks. It starts out small, with the occasional headache that he just sleeps off, and then it escalates to the full on feel of being stuck in his itchy, scratchy, too-tight skin and vomiting. The entire time, Mikey is with him, handing him cold water, helping him stand up, distracting him from the burn beneath his skin with videogames. Even when Frank goes to his own home, Mikey goes with him, even if it’s only for a short time. Frank is extremely thankful, either way.

Frank doesn’t think Gerard is really aware of what is happening to him. Every now and then he’ll catch Gerard looking at him with a very concerned, very puzzled look, but Frank will just play off whatever happened to him like it’s nothing, like it’s a completely normal occurrence. Frank can see that Gerard doesn’t completely buy it, and he doesn’t really blame him, but Gerard asks no questions, and Frank offers no answers.

When his head is splitting apart and cold tremors are shooting down his spine, Gerard cuddles close to him, obviously unsure of what is happening to Frank. Those are the moments where the most Frank can do is cling to him in response and just let a chorus of ‘worth it, worth it, worth it’ slide across his mind.

✬✬✬

Gerard has been going to school while Frank detoxes, trying to even out the tasks of worrying about him and keeping his head down. It’s proving difficult, yet he manages. He even serves out his detention, never mind that the way it’s wasted is distressing over Frank’s condition.

The social balance between Gerard and Mikey is off. Usually, the day will pass with Mikey making no effort to acknowledge his brother’s presence, and vice versa. But today, along with these last few days, Mikey has pulled Gerard aside at least once a day to check on him.

Every time, Gerard turns to leave, telling Mikey in a hushed voice that Mikey’s going to get his ass kicked if he’s seen talking to Gerard, and every time, Mikey hisses back that he doesn’t care.

Gerard suspects that Mikey’s sudden change of pace has to do with Frank being all weird. He can’t quite pin what exactly it is that’s wrong with Frank, but he knows it isn’t good, and he doesn’t like it. At all. Gerard feels a stab of guilt, because if this is anything near the feelings that he put Frank through when he overdosed then he hates it and is never going to do _anything_ like that again. Even if it means living in an impressive hell.

Frank seems to be spending more and more time at his own home, and Mikey is spending an equal amount of time with him. Gerard doesn’t blame them, but sometimes he wishes they’d be here more so he wouldn’t destroy himself so much.

But he deals. He’s alright. It’s nothing new, being alone. It’s just….. He’d forgotten a little bit about what alone was like. At first, the abrupt silence and cold bed threw him off and made him a little scared, but as the weeks wore on he fell back into the all too familiar rhythm of ignoring the voices pushing suicide and sleeping away the hours he should have spent doing homework.

He figures that he better get used to it. Frank’s probably not going to be back for a while.

✬✬✬

The moment Frank can get through the day without a single itch beneath his skin or a single pull telling him to find the nearest dealer, he nearly sobs with relief.

Just to test himself, he goes to a party that night, one he knows will be chock full of drugs and pills and sex and booze.

And, true to his predictions, it is. The music is loud and person after person comes up to him with a grin and offers a drink, or a smoke, or something to shoot up. Each time, Frank says no, and each and every time, a burst of pride settle across his chest.

The people there are a little confused, but respect Frank’s wishes nonetheless. Pete, the kid hosting the party, is the only person throughout the whole night to question his sobriety. Frank makes up an on-the-spot lie about his mom finding his stash. Pete nods solemnly and offers his condolences, telling him that detoxing sucks, and Frank wholeheartedly agrees.

For the rest of the night, Frank just loses himself between the seas of bodies and the pulse of the music. He surfaces a couple times to talk to some of the people there that he recognizes. But other than those rare and far in between moments, he watches the severely intoxicated people drift around, wondering if that’s what _he_ looked like when he was all fucked up.

If it is how he looked and acted, then he is most definitely never touching any kind of intoxicant ever again.

He leaves the party at two in the morning, one hundred percent sober, and smile stretched so fucking wide across his face he feels like his cheeks are going to pop.

It’s really fucking tempting to dance in the middle of the street, he’s so happy. Frank sprints to Mikey’s house, the grin sticking to his face like bubblegum to the bottom of a shoe. He climbs, rather gracelessly, up the gutter and onto the small sliver of roof right outside Mikey’s window.

Frank makes a silent prayer that either Mikey is up, or his window is unlocked.

He raps his knuckles three times against the window and waits. The window slides open with a gust of air sucked into the house and Mikey’s face appears.

“The fuck, Frankie? Get in here, you idiot. Are you _aware_ of what time at night it is? You’re lucky I have shitty sleeping habits,” Mikey chides, as Frank, maintaining his grin, crawls through the window and drops to the floor.

“And where the fuck have you been? You smell like booze and weed and…… _Frank_. You didn’t.”

Impossibly, Frank’s smile gets bigger.

“I just spent the last five hours at one of Wentz’s parties. I am completely sober. I didn’t even drink.”

Mikey’s grin nearly rivals his own as he grabs Frank and hugs him tight.

“You are a miracle, Frank Iero. Gerard’s downstairs, you wanna go see him?” Mikey asks, eyebrows raised almost comically high, asking another question simultaneously without words.

“No, Mikey, I came here to see you and just you. Of fucking course I do, asshole!”

“Go on then,” Mikey says, nudging him out the door.

✬✬✬

Gerard is struggling to go to sleep. He’s slept so much today, so much that his body doesn’t want to sleep anymore. His brain wants to though. His brain is really fucking tired.

But he’s awake, even if it’s a little hazy. Gerard is just conscious enough that he’s aware of a new voice joining in with his brother’s filtering in through the vents, new footsteps making their way to the basement door.

For a minute, he panics, his mind racing. After a moment, he calms himself, considering that if Mikey let them in, then they must be someone they know.

Someone they know, indeed. Gerard’s heart stutters when he sees Frank calmly descending the stairs, hands in pockets, eyes scanning the room, utilizing the minimal light so he can see in the darkness.

“Gee?” he whispers. “Are you awake?”

Gerard swallows thickly, his throat suddenly having gone dry. “Yeah,” he breathes into the darkness.

“Can I come sit with you?” Frank asks.

“Yeah,” Gerard says again. Frank calmly moves to the bedside and sits down by his feet.

Peeling himself up from the mattress, Gerard launches himself at Frank wrapping his arms around him and letting Frank drag him closer, until Gerard is literally in his lap.

For a while, they just breathe. Gerard doesn’t completely understand what happened to Frank, or why. It doesn’t matter though, he’s back, and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to leave anytime soon.

He has to admit, it’s weird as fuck not being alone all of the sudden. His bed is already warming around their bodies, his heartbeat adjusting to the happy thrum Frank gives it. The question is perched on his lips, but he doesn’t know if he wants to ask it.

After a while of just breathing, basking in a comfortable silence, Gerard relents and asks.

“What happened to you?” His voice is gentle and soft, like if he says it too loud he’ll break something delicate.

Frank’s chest expands and deflates beneath Gerard’s.

“I was detoxing.”

 _Oh_.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Frank says. “I’m sorry I left you alone.”

“Don’t be, I was fine,” Gerard lies. But the lie is necessary, he knows, because if he told Frank the truth he’d feel terrible. Detoxing is more than an acceptable reason to leave. In fact, practically everything is more than an acceptable reason to leave Gerard.

“You sure?” Frank asks, giving him a final chance to tell the truth.

He still goes with the lie.

“I was fine, Frankie, don’t worry,” He assures, pulling off the little white lie in the most convincing way he thinks he can manage.

“Good,” Frank responds. For a single moment, Gerard feels like shit for lying. It passes quickly, however. He did the right thing, at least, he thinks so.

Once again, they fall into a comfortable silence. He doesn’t notice right away that Frank is rubbing his thumb idly against Gerard’s wrist. The second he does, his brain follows the small rotations in Technicolor.

All his head (or maybe it’s his heart?) wants right then is to kiss Frank. It’s irrational and stupid, but it’s happened before, so it can’t be _that_ improbable, can it?

Gerard, once again, loses awareness over his movements. His face is tilted backwards, the back of his head resting on Frank’s shoulder, staring at the blank expression that’s found its home on his face. Images flicker through his mind, mostly consisting of pressing his lips against Frank’s.

He chides himself once more, telling himself that it’s not something he should do and that just because it happened once doesn’t mean it’s a promise.

“You’re staring,” Frank whispers, right next to his ear, causing Gerard to jolt in his arms.

“A-am not!” He stutters. Predictably, pink appears high on his cheekbones.

“You sure?” Frank says. Gerard doesn’t have to turn his head to see the teasing smile he knows is plastered across Frank’s face.

Gerard nods jerkily. “Positive.”

Frank hooks his index and middle finger beneath Gerard’s chin and tilts his face so his eyes can lock with Frank’s.

His heartbeat increases at an alarming rate, so fast that he wonders (briefly) if it’ll grow wings and beat out of his chest. Gerard’s almost sure Frank can hear it growing wings and preparing for takeoff.

The gentle press of Frank’s lips against his fucking throws his pulse up so high that now he’s _positive_ it’s audible. Nonetheless, he kisses back, with maybe a little too much enthusiasm.

That doesn’t stop Frank from matching his pace, however. Gerard wishes they could take it farther, he wants that, oh god does he want that, but he’s a wreck right now. His whole body is caked in multicolor bruises and lacerations in various stages of healing, some, unfortunately reasonably fresh.

But he kisses Frank anyway, mesmerized by how soft his lips are in comparison to his own chapped and rough ones. He tugs Frank’s lip ring smoothly into his mouth, reveling in the small, barely audible whimper it earns him. Frank is gentle, so gentle, treating Gerard and this kiss like some rare flower that must be handled with the most caution humanly possible otherwise it will wilt and die. Never in his life has he ever been treated with so much care, Gerard realizes. That causes him to completely melt against Frank’s body, and Frank holds him there, supporting their weight with some kind of practiced ease.

They part, after a moment, both breathing heavily.

Frank rests his forehead against Gerard’s and skitters the tips of his fingers down the contours of Gerard’s face.

“ _Beautiful_ ,” he says. Rather than respond, Gerard says nothing in return and just brings Frank’s hand away from his face and intertwines their fingers.

“One of these days,” Frank says, “I’m going to get you to believe me.”

He presses a kiss to the back of Gerard’s hand, like the action will seal the promise. But Gerard knows, better than anyone, that all promises are easily broken. The same can be said for the bindings holding the assurances together.

✬✬✬

Inevitably, Frank crashes at Gerard and Mikey’s house. After all, it was two in the fucking morning when he showed up, and he’s lucky as it is that he managed to stay coherent long enough to talk to Gerard. He’s not going to pass his promise off as sleep deprivation, though. He really meant those words with every fiber of his being.

When he manages to wake up (and _really_ wake up, not that half assed zombie shit that 95% of the teenagers that make up high school pull), he sees that Gerard has tangled himself up in Frank’s legs, head resting just above his heart and arms encompassing his ribs. Frank smiles and runs his fingers through Gerard’s dark hair, keeping his breathing as steady as possible as to not disturb Gerard’s sleeping (and incredibly warm) form.

He hears the basement door open and shoots a glance at the glowing blue numbers of the digital clock on the DVD player. It’s ten in the morning, too early for his tastes. Awake or no, Frank considers going back to sleep, but the lanky form that is now filling the doorway at the bottom of the stairs requires his attention.

“What do you want, Mikey?” Frank whispers. He sees Mikey’s shadow shrug and come a little closer.

“Just making sure neither of you were eaten by zombie mice. Also, your mom called. She’s pissed as fuck.” Mikey responds in an equally hushed tone.

“Oh _shit_.”

“Yeah, dumbass. Sneaking out? Come on Frankie, you’re usually better than that. I can _cover_ for you if you say you’re coming over here, but _no_ , your stupid ass just _had_ to go and sneak out. You’re lucky Gerard likes you as much as he does, otherwise I’d release you to your mother.” Mikey hisses, smacking in the general direction of Frank’s face.

“So what did you tell her then? Or is she coming with the cavalry?” Frank says quietly.

“I told her that I called you over here this morning and that you must have forgotten to leave her a note. You’re fucking lucky, you little shit, because she bought it.” Mikey whispers, smacking at Frank’s face again.

“Yes, yes, okay, you’re the best Mikeyway, thank you for saving my stupid ass, you’re beautiful and talented yadda yadda yadda. Can I go back to sleep now?” Frank says, batting Mikey’s hands away from his face.

“I guess. But you owe me, fucknut.”

“I’ll give you my first born child.” He says as he curls himself back around Gerard.

Mikey chuckles, pats him on the head and leaves, drowning the basement in silence, save for the gentle sound of Frank and Gerard’s breathing.

✬✬✬

When they’ve all managed to get up, Frank leaves in a rush. Of course, that’s only after multiple and near-constant assurances that Gerard is going to be okay.

In all honesty, Gerard lied his way through all the confirmations. He is not going to be okay, especially after he’s abruptly readjusted to not being alone. The shock of being left on his own once again is almost too much for him to handle. It almost makes him crazy, the sudden abandonment. The pills call to him louder than ever, taunting him, saying that everyone leaves him anyway, even if he thinks they come back.

Gerard almost does it, too. He holds the bottle of sleeping pills and lets them rattle around in the bottle as he tips it up and down, up and down. The noise they make is like music. _Like raindrops_ , his brain supplies.

 The voices goad him to an even harsher extent while the pills plunk against each other and the plastic bottle. They tease him, tell him that even though Frank says he cares, says he wants to fix him, he doesn’t, not really.

 _“You’re not fixable,”_ they criticize. _“You may as well fucking end it, because you aren’t going to be saved by anyone, or anything. Fucking useless, ugly piece of shit. You’re bound to die like this, so just get it over and done with.”_

A small part of his brain, a part that he didn’t think even existed (and sounds suspiciously similar to Frank’s voice) tells him to hold on, just a little longer, that living can’t be too hard, and all he has to do is just keep his heart beating.

It’s probably thanks to that little voice that he didn’t down that bottle right then.

✬✬✬

The world has come off its hinges by the time the weekend arrives and Frank is back again. Overdosing becomes such a reasonable thing, and the voices have become louder and more frequent, pushing him to eat less and damage himself more. He has to wear loose pants (something very foreign and something he’s most definitely not fond of) and hoodies and has covered himself in Band-Aids, gauze and medical tape. He might hate himself, but he doesn’t want to die of an infection. Then again, he really could give less of a fuck. Dead is dead, who’s he to be picky about how it happens?

Frank very narrowly convinces his mother to let him stay over. The voices hiss that they wish she hadn’t so Gerard could just kill himself already. They don’t want Frank around extending Gerard’s pitiful existence, they’d rather he just left and let Gerard _die_ already.

The smile Gerard pushes onto his face doesn’t convince Frank in the slightest. It doesn’t convince Mikey either.

After a silent agreement between Frank and Mikey, Mikey gets up and leaves the basement where they’ve convened, muttering things about calling Pete and meeting up at Ray’s.

“What’s wrong?” Frank asks literally the second the latch of the basement door clicks shut.

“Nothing,” Gerard lies.

“Please don’t lie, Gee. Are you okay?”

Gerard stares at his dirty shoes and the floor, avoiding meeting Frank’s searching, concerned gaze.

“I’m fine.” He says, still ignoring Frank’s stare.  The floorboards are particularly interesting today.

“ _Gee_ ,” Frank implores again.

“ _What_ , Frank?” He spits, a little too harshly. The volume of the voices increase considerably, and his fingers itch for a pill bottle or a blade or something. The hurt on Frank’s face is too much, and now he’d really like to die, no matter if the voices want him to or not.  This feeling, he’s pretty sure, is all his.

“Sorry. You don’t have to tell me,” Frank says, withdrawing visibly, shrinking in on himself. Gerard wants to bash his own skull in.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-“

“No,” Frank interrupts him with a wave of his hand. “It’s fine. You had every right to. I was out of line.”

“No you weren’t, Frank. I was. There was no acceptable reason for me to do lash out like I did. I’m sorry.”  Gerard says, his tone starting out as something forceful and then dwindling down to a volume that can only be described as small and afraid. 

“What’s going on, Gerard?” He asks, his voice the equivalent of a warm hug.

Gerard shrugs. “I don’t feel good,” He says, like he has a cold or a stomachache or something of a similar nature. 

Those words appear to break Frank. Gerard doesn’t understand why, the most he understands is that Frank somehow gets sadder after Gerard falls silent.

Frank leans forward abruptly and grabs Gerard’s upper arms, tugging his body until his chest is pressed to Frank’s and his arms are wrapped around Frank’s ribs, Frank’s own arms around Gerard’s shoulders, one hand holding the back of his head, keeping his face against Frank’s chest.

It’s then that Gerard guesses he breaks.

Before he’s even really aware it’s happening, he’s shaking and crying in Frank’s arms and muttering useless, meaningless nonsense into Frank’s shirt.

Frank is petting his hair, letting him sob until his throat is raw and his head is starting to hurt.

He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t fucking get it. Why is he so emotional? He hasn’t cried this hard since he was fucking ten years old and scraped the shit up out of his knee.  And he just _has_ to do this when Frank is here, god fucking dammit. When Gerard cries, he ugly cries, his face scrunches up and gets all blotchy and it’s _hideous_ , _no one_ needs to see him like this, least of all Frank.

“Fuck,” Gerard says into Frank’s sleeve, his voice a rough and ruined.

“I’m sorry,” he snuffles, pulling away from Frank’s body so he can wipe at his face. Frank’s face creases in confusion.

“What for?” he asks.

“Getting your shirt all wet,” Gerard says. Frank makes a noise that Gerard doesn’t really have a word for and pulls him back against him.

“Get it as wet as you want, I don’t care,” Frank says, re-threading his fingers in Gerard’s hair.

They sit like that for a while, just holding each other, tangled up on the couch pretending everything’s okay.

✬✬✬

This time, Frank can’t hold himself back. He and Gerard are huddled up on the couch, Gerard still snuffling quietly, small tears sliding off his cheeks and onto Frank’s considerably dampened shirt. 

Frank pulls Gerard off of him and curves his palms around Gerard’s tear-tracked cheeks, caressing his cheekbones with the edges of his thumbs, studying his eyes, his lips, the contrast of his hands against Gerard’s pale face.

He thinks, that this time, Gerard is the one to lean in first.

The kiss, to summarize, is perfect. Frank doubts it could be anything but, and the way Gerard just sort of collapses and melts against his body just adds on to the feeling flowering throughout Frank’s body.

When they break apart for air, Gerard looks at him like he’s the eighth wonder of the world.  In all honesty, he hates that look, it’s questioning and doubting and too many bad things for Frank to just sort of let himself exist on standby.

“What? What is it?” He asks, tucking a stray lock of Gerard’s hair back behind his ear, only separating their bodies just enough so that they can see each other clearly. Gerard swallows thickly, inaudible, although Frank watches his Adam’s apple slide beneath the pale column of his throat.

“Why do you keep doing this?” He whispers, kiss-reddened lips breathing out words that send Frank’s brain spinning around in a staggering combination of desperation and confusion.

“What do you mean?” He responds.  Gerard swallows again.

“K-kissing me. Why do you keep kissing me?”

Frank has to stop and think for a second. He doesn’t really want to admit the reason out loud, because it scares him, and he isn’t really afraid of much (except for spiders, he fucking hates those, but that’s beside the point). It is necessary in this situation, he knows. So he shoves all the condescending and chastising thoughts out of his head and just says it.

“Because I like you. Is it a problem? I’ll stop if you want,” Frank says, a little too relieved when the creases of confusion and worry disappear from Gerard’s face.

“No,” Gerard says, falling forward and snuggling into Frank’s chest, “It’s not at all a problem.”

“Good,” Frank replies, “Because I like kissing you.”

His comment causes Gerard’s cheeks to flush a little and a smile stretches across Frank’s face.

They sit in a comfortable silence for a while, tangled together in a manner that can only be described as pacifying, Gerard’s breathing evening out, changing from broken and shaky breaths to smooth, small ones.

“So does this make us anything?” Gerard says after a bit, his voice a little scratchy from the abuse sobbing inflicted on his vocal chords.

“It can if you want it to,” Frank says. Butterflies burst and pulse against his stomach and ribcage, the excitement of Gerard’s potential answer causing his grasp on the moment to weaken before he forces it to tighten once again so he can fully comprehend the words Gerard is saying.

“Do _you_ want it to?”

 _Yes,_ Frank thinks, _yes I really, really do_.

“Uh uh,” He says instead. “This is up to you. How I feel can come second.”

He watches the answer spin around behind Gerard’s eyes before the words are actually spoken.

“I want it to.”

The world comes alive in vibrant colors and feelings, the wings of the butterflies buried beneath his chest beating rapidly, significantly out of time with the increased speed of his heart. Gerard closes his fingers around Frank’s wrist and squeezes, successfully bringing him back to the present.

“So do you?”

“Yes.”

Gerard beams, the tired darkness in his eyes being pushed around by a light, airy happiness. The dead in his eyes doesn’t leave, however, and Frank wonders if it’s permanent.

“Does that make us…. Boyfriends?” Gerard asks, failing to keep the hopeful tone in his voice masked.

“If you want,” Frank says again. Gerard surges up and kisses him.

“I do, I do want,” He says, smiling.

“Awesome,” Frank says, his smile rivaling Gerard’s.

✬✬✬

Mikey comes home a few hours later, finding Gerard and Frank cuddled together, Gerard asleep and Frank awake, eyes unfocused as they hazily watched whatever shitty reality show is on the TV.

“What’s up?” Mikey asks. Frank grins, wide and deliriously happy.

“I’ve got a boyfriend,” he says. Mikey looks at him in surprise.

“Really? You made it official?”

Frank nods.

“We did. Holy shit dude, I have a boyfriend,” Frank says, his smile broadening to an extent that Mikey wonders if the muscles in his face are going to give out.

It’s almost sickeningly cute, the way Frank tightens his arms around his brother and chirps ‘Boyfriend!’ before looking at Mikey like a child that’s just been given an early Christmas present.

“I like this one, Mikeyway.”

Mikey smiles and sits down on the floor by the middle of the couch. “I’ll still kick your ass if you hurt him,” he says definitively. Frank nods.

“I’ll kill me too.”

“Fair enough,” Mikey responds, directing his attention to the TV screen.

✬✬✬

A few weeks have passed since Frank and Gerard made it official. Even though he and Frank are dating now, even though Frank is so obviously infatuated with him, the voices tell him relentlessly and endlessly that Frank is a liar and only says these things, does these things because he pities him.

Despite the fact that he knows none of that true, the voices hold an immense amount of power over him and it’s ridiculously hard to remind himself that they aren’t real and Frank really does care.

Especially on the nights like this one, the nights where he is alone and all he has is the vague memory of the feeling of being held by Frank. He imagines that in the dark arms are wrapping around him and keeping him safe, that he can feel a heartbeat against his back and can feel hands lacing their fingers with his own..

It’s always hard to wake up in the morning alone, having fallen asleep with the ghost of the feeling of being comforted. He hates it.

Frank does make an effort to be with Gerard as often as he can, however. He can see that Gerard is physically bothered by being alone as often as he is, so he does everything in his power to keep whatever it is that makes him hate solitude at bay.

And yet, Gerard still destroys himself. His eating habits are shit and he’s getting low on gauze. Sooner or later he’s going to have to steal more from his mother.

She hasn’t been around too much lately. His mother is a spectacular person, don’t get him wrong, but ultimately it is that trait that keeps her away from her two children. She’s elected to cover a few people’s shifts at the hospital, coming home for a little less than five hours every night. Even then, it’s usually late at night and Gerard and Mikey have finally gone to bed hours prior. She usually scribbles out a note and leaves some cash on the table for take out or pizza and crashes, rising even earlier than the sun and going back to work.

Gerard admires her strength and determination, and he knows it’s selfish, but he wishes she could be around for them more. It’s hard enough as it is without a father, but being almost a literal wreck and having to do your best to look after your baby brother is a challenge that he’s not sure even his mother could conquer.

Everything is spiraling downwards quickly. He doesn’t know if he can hold on for too much longer, the voices are getting louder with every breath he takes and even Frank’s kindness and affection can’t keep them away for too terribly long.

Somehow, Frank picks up on that. Every time he sees Gerard, his face shifts to an expression that’s almost mourning, like he’s on the edge of crying. Frank doesn’t know it, but it’s those faces that make everything worse. Those faces make Gerard blame himself and itch for the release that comes with discovering the color of his veins.

It doesn’t matter. Frank doesn’t need to know that, ever. It doesn’t matter.

The first time they have sex, Frank worships Gerard’s body like he’s some kind of precious relic that requires every last ounce of his attention. It’s a Thursday, Gerard thinks, and Frank is curled happily around him on the bed, holding Gerard to his chest with his back resting against the wall as he peppers small kisses down the back of his neck and on the tendon that connects Gerard’s neck and shoulder. They’re both hardly paying any attention to whatever film they’ve mindlessly put into the DVD tray this time. He twists around in Frank’s lap and catches his lips, ignoring the rise and surge of negative voices and just losing himself in the feeling of _Frank_.

The kiss deepens, Gerard’s mouth open and pliant beneath Frank’s. Their tongues slide hotly against each other and Gerard can no longer successfully ignore the feeling of arousal growing and spreading throughout his body.

He’s scared. It’s not like he’s a virgin, oh god no, he’s been drunk too many times at too many parties, fucking an excess of nameless faces only referred to as ‘babe’, phone numbers written in ink that was scrubbed away from his skin as quickly as possible. But he feels like this may as well be the first time he has sex. In a way, it is. This will be the first time he’s had sex with someone while his body is in such a ruined state. It is repulsive and he doubts someone will want to fuck him if they’re forced to stare at wounds artlessly tended to and the scars from moments of destruction from the past.

Frank’s hand trails up the inside of his thigh and stops just where his torso ends and his legs begin. Gerard can’t bite back the whimper that swells up in his throat. He may be in a devastated state, but that doesn’t stop his body from wanting what it wants.

 _Fuck it_ , he decides. He slides his hand down, away from Frank’s arms and down to his hips, curling his fingers around the growing bulge in his jeans and swallowing the moan it earns him, his body retaliating with a moan of his own.

Frank pulls away to look at him. Another wave of _want_ settles through his body when he sees how dilated Frank’s pupils are, how his lips have swollen just slightly from the pressure of his mouth against Gerard’s.

“Do you want to?” He asks. Gerard holds back the temptation to roll his eyes and tell him, _of fucking course, you moron_. He knows how important consent is, and he’s never had sex with someone when consent was not given or was doubted by either party. So he nods, perhaps a little too excitedly and Frank kisses him again, playing with the hem of Gerard’s sweatshirt.

Panic rises up in his throat, not truly wanting Frank to see his body. 

He keeps chanting to himself that the way he looks doesn’t matter, that Frank really doesn’t care. It’s useless, even though Frank stops kissing him for a moment to breathe and looks Gerard in the eye and tells him that he’s beautiful in this perfect, breathless voice that causes Gerard to make an embarrassing whine back in his throat. Frank giggles, and Gerard considers smacking him. He doesn’t, but he would really like to.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says and surges back in to kiss Frank.

Frank giggles again and then hums into his mouth. He recommences tugging at the edge of Gerard’s sweatshirt, and Gerard gladly returns the favor, bunching the edges of the fabric of Frank’s t-shirt in his hands and pulling a little harshly.

Frank breaks the kiss and slides his shirt off, diving right back in the second it’s been thrown aimlessly to the floor and kissing Gerard’s distended lips again.

And he wants. God, Gerard wants. But once more, his physical state is holding him back and he wants to fucking scream. His clothes (although they are loose) feel way too fucking tight, and he needs them _off off off_. Frank’s clothes, too. He wants skin against skin and he _wants_ , _now_.

“Fuck,” he breathes against Frank’s mouth and pulls himself away, grabbing the hem of his sweatshirt and pulling it up and off, revealing the bare, battered skin beneath. He hears Frank’s breath catch in his throat and moves to cover his chest. Frank catches his arms and pins them to his sides, ducking his head down and dropping kisses from the hollow of his throat, down his chest and kissing every individual scar that’s made its home on his stomach and ribs. He pays extra attention to the huge one that goes from in between his pectorals and trails all the way down to the top of his belly button. Frank has shifted his grip from Gerard’s lower arms to his hands, looking up at him with a burning gaze when he abruptly bites down and sucks a hickey into the soft skin next to a particularly nasty scar on his hip.

Gerard shouts, twisting his wrist so he can grip Frank’s fingers and dig the nail of his thumb into Frank’s palm.

Frank smiles against his skin, obviously pleased with Gerard’s reaction. He goes to bite another mark into his skin, but Gerard yanks a hand free and grips Frank by the back of the neck, dragging him in for another kiss. His hand slides down Frank’s back, tracing the bumps of vertebrae pressing against his skin with fingers lighter than butterfly kisses. Frank squirms beneath the touch, the shivers racing down his spine channeling through Gerard’s arm and down his own body.

Everywhere they’re touching feels like it is a lit fuse, destined to explode, the heat from their skin meeting and molding together, creating a warmth that Gerard thinks could only be closely simulated by a fire. Frank is distracted by a certain spot on Gerard’s neck that multiple people have discovered and exploited, the one where every time it is licked or bit at he makes some sort of embarrassing moaning noise. And he has most definitely tried to hold them down before, but the efforts appear futile, because the more he tries to muffle them the more humiliating they get, so he’s just stopped resisting and allows himself to be vocal.

He’s had it with his stupid fucking clothes, and Frank’s too.

“Off off off off off off,” He chants, tugging at Frank’s pants, and when he is met with resistance put in place by a belt, he starts fighting with the button and zipper of his own. Frank laughs when Gerard makes a distressed sound, and Gerard looks up at him with a pout.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he says, and Frank laughs again. “Stop it or no sex for you!” At that, Frank’s eyes widen.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he says. Gerard crosses his arms.

“Wouldn’t I?” he replies defiantly.

“No you wouldn’t,” Frank says and undoes his belt, tossing it in the same general direction as his shirt.

Gerard makes a noise in agreement. “You’re right, I wouldn’t.”

He nudges Frank’s hands out of the way and goes to undo his button-fly (because Frank is some kind of sadist, why the fuck do people actually wears these things, Christ on a fucking boat) with a dexterity well-practiced.

While Frank hurriedly kicks off his pants, Gerard fights with his own, finally managing to get the button open, zipper down and shoves the denim a little too roughly down his thighs. The coarse fabric catches against the open lacerations on his thighs and he hisses in pain. Frank looks at Gerard in confusion until he glances down and sees the gashes. His face softens, and he runs his hands delicately up the back of his thighs, and then back down the front of them, fingers hardly making contact with the injured skin.

The barest pressure makes them sting and Gerard silently curses himself for not having cleaned them out better. He bites at the tip of his tongue to keep the pained noises back in his throat, and Frank slides himself down until he’s pressing small kisses to the top of Gerard’s right knee, up his leg, and he very, very gently presses his chapped lips against the angry welts that Gerard has placed on his own skin.

Frank repeats the process on Gerard’s other leg and then hooks his fingers over the top of Gerard’s boxers.

“Can I?” he asks, dropping teeny kisses on Gerard’s inner thigh. “Wanna suck your brain out through your dick.”

Gerard nods. “Only if you promise to fuck me through the mattress.”

Frank groans and furiously tugs Gerard’s boxers off, his erection popping free and hitting the skin beneath his bellybutton.

He gets right to it, wrapping a hand around the base of Gerard’s dick and sucking the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the scar tissue at the base of the head, giving no warning and Gerard’s hips cant upward into Frank’s mouth. Frank scowls up at him and pulls off, ignoring Gerard’s whimper of protest.

“Keep yourself still or I’ll hold you down,” he says and shifts so his shoulders are near Gerard’s thighs. “You got lube?”

“Yeah. Down there somewhere,” Gerard says, gesturing to the small pile by the headboard of his bed.

“Real helpful, fucker,” Frank mutters as he leans over the side of the bed, scavenging through piles of ‘God-knows-what-the-fuck-this-is’ and arising triumphant with a small bottle of lube. He pours an excessive amount over three of his fingers and settles back between Gerard’s legs. Frank sucks the head of his dick back into his mouth as he pushes in the first finger and Gerard whimpers again and slides a hand into Frank’s hair.

Frank begins to thrust his finger in and out, very, very slowly. When he crooks his finger just right and sucks down particularly hard, Gerard’s hips pump upward once again, and again Frank pulls his mouth off of Gerard’s dick and his finger out and glares.

“ _Keep_. _Still_ ,” he practically growls.

“Okay, okay,” Gerard says, desperate to get Frank’s mouth and fingers back where he wants them. Frank nods and ducks his head back down, nudging his shoulders beneath Gerard’s thighs and swallowing around Gerard’s dick to the point his mouth almost meets his fist. He chooses then to slide in a second finger and push them both against the spot he _knows_ he’s going to be taking more than his fair share of advantage of tonight.

Gerard tightens his fingers in Frank’s hair and has to physically concentrate on not moving. Frank pushes in a third finger and he moans _embarrassingly_ loudly. He is most definitely thankful that no one is currently in the house but them.

Frank hums in a manner that can only be described as appreciatively around his dick, sending pulsations of noise shooting rapidly up and down his spine, throughout his whole body. He watches as Frank hollows his cheeks and slides his mouth down farther, mouth actually meeting his fingers this time, his tongue sliding up and down the sides of Gerard’s dick and he’s pushing his fingers against Gerard’s prostate he’s going to fucking come and-

Frank pulls off and slides his fingers out. He shifts up and forward, sliding Gerard’s legs off his shoulders so he can bite at Gerard’s neck, lips curving into a smile when they feel the distressed moan bubbling up from Gerard’s throat.

“I believe,” Frank says as he runs his hands up and down Gerard’s ribs, “That I promised to fuck you through the mattress. You have a condom?” he asks as he reaches back down the side of the bed to pick the lube up from where he dropped it.  When he looks back up, Gerard is blushing.

“Um – Well, I – No. I don’t. But uh – I’m clean if you are?” he says, avoiding meeting Frank’s eyes.

Frank leans down and kisses him, the pressure potentially bruising.

“I’m clean,” he says, pulling back so he can look at Gerard’s face.

“Good,” Gerard says and kisses Frank again. He starts pulling at Frank’s boxers and wonders how he still even has them on.

“How do you still have these on?” he says, making his last sentiment vocal.

“Like hell I know,” Frank replies, helping Gerard get them off of him.

Frank uncaps the lube and slicks himself up, using what probably could be defined as an excess amount. He just really doesn’t want to hurt Gerard, and you really can’t blame him.  

He leans back over Gerard, face happily burying itself in his neck as he lines himself up. He peels his torso off of Gerard’s body so he can look at his face, asking for consent one more time.

“Fuck me, please,” he breathes, eyes blown beautifully wide and knees pulling themselves farther apart. Frank has to hold himself back from slamming in all at once. He leans back in and kisses Gerard as he pushes in, slowly, letting Gerard adjust to the head of his dick, and then pushing more of his length in, painstakingly gentle and deliberate.

Gerard is pretty tempted to push Frank onto his back and just sit on his dick, but he’s never really had slow, sweet sex before. Hookups tend to be quick and messy and both people tend to be a little too intoxicated to do much else other than get off.

So they go slow.  Frank holds him, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other pressing the flat of his palm against the small of Gerard’s back, holding his hips off the bed just a few centimeters. The entire time Frank is speaking ceaselessly, low and directly into his ear, and Gerard is progressively losing himself in the touch, the feel, the words.

The pace that Frank has set is driving Gerard insane. He’s babbling a mindless mantra of ‘please please please please’. Frank keeps snickering into his neck and replying, “What, what do you want?” and all Gerard can do in response whine and say please again.

“You gotta talk to me Gee,” Frank says as he thrusts deep into Gerard, hitting his prostate directly, throwing any coherent thoughts and words that Gerard may have had right out the window.

“What do you want?” Frank asks, breathing rough into Gerard’s ear and biting at the lobe.

“F-faster, please, faster,” He moans, locking his thighs around Frank’s hips and rocking his ass upward to meet Frank’s thrusts.

“Mm. How fast?” he responds, speeding up his thrusts, but just barely.

“Through the fucking mattress, you promised, goddammit,” he says and slams his hips up to meet Frank’s.

Frank sighs. “I guess I did. And it’d be bad manners to go back on my word…..”

With those words, he bites down sharply on Gerard’s pulse point and drops Gerard’s hips, hitches his thighs up higher on Frank’s middle and slams _hard_ against Gerard’s prostate and doesn’t stop.

He cries out and thrusts against empty air, desperate for some kind of friction so he can just _come_ already.  Frank is holding himself up above Gerard, jaw dropped and loose in pleasure and sweat forming at the crown of his head, eyes screwed shut and he is perfect and beautiful.

It’s after they both come, after Frank makes this gyrating motion with his hips that grinds up against Gerard’s prostate and he loses it, Frank biting down on his shoulder and following not too long after that it hits Gerard like a train.

He loves him. He loves Frank, and they didn’t just fuck. No, they did something Gerard’s never done, never thought he would do. They made _love_ and Gerard feels like such a fucking girl for saying it like that. But it’s true. After, as he’s cuddled against Frank’s body, sweat drying between them and come poorly cleaned up with an old shirt that Gerard realizes that he feels very, very _loved._

He hopes, for the sake of both of them, that Frank loves him too.

✬✬✬

They can’t keep their hands off of each other in the days after and Mikey is getting a little pissy about it.

“There’s this new thing, called decency? I doubt you’ve heard of it. Anyway, what it entails is keeping your hand out of my brother’s pants and vice versa while I’m within a 500 meter range,” he says with his arms crossed, glaring at the pair like a disapproving mother.

Frank, just to spite him, leans over and drags his tongue over Gerard’s cheek.  

“Do I need to fucking tattoo it to your forehead? Keep it in your fucking pants until I’m gone!” Mikey says, exasperated and way beyond fucking done with Frank and Gerard’s bullshit.

“Whoops,” Gerard says, shrugging slightly and tilting back at an admittedly awkward angle so Frank can latch his teeth onto the skin above Gerard’s Adam’s apple.

“That’s it, I’m fucking leaving, and I’m bringing Pete back and I’m going to give him a fucking lap dance in front of you two and see how much _you_ appreciate it.”

Mikey stomps loudly and furiously up the stairs, and Gerard looks at Frank in a panic.

“Do you think he’s actually going to do it?”

Frank snorts and nuzzles his nose against the back of Gerard’s neck.

“Knowing Mikey, and also knowing Pete Wentz, unfortunately, I think they might. But, on the bright side, they’ll probably drag Ray and Bob with them, and Bob has this whole thing about keeping sex and sex acts inside of bedrooms, which means no lap dances. That also means that I can’t grab your tits or give you a hickey, but I think avoiding the trauma of having to see Mikey and Pete act like they’re in a strip club is a fair trade.”

Gerard nods solemnly. “My tits will miss your hands,” he says in a feigned somber tone.

Frank giggles and moves his hands over Gerard’s pectorals, giving them a playful squeeze.

“They’re not here yet, so your tits are mine,” he says impishly. Gerard snickers and covers Frank’s hands with his own, gripping his hands and Frank’s so they’re both grabbing his tits.

“My boobs demand their release now,” Gerard says. Frank pouts, but removes his hands.

“That’s such a shame, you have nice tits.”

Gerard laughs again, his stupid, beautiful, honking laugh and cuddles back against Frank.  

This is perfection, Frank thinks, and he wouldn’t trade this or any other moment with Gerard for anything in the universe.

✬✬✬

True to his word, Mikey brings Pete back, and true to Frank’s predictions, Ray and Bob are with them.

Mikey and Pete are holding hands and muttering back and forth at each other in a hardly audible tone, shooting glances up at Frank and Gerard and muttering more intensely.

Thankfully, Ray and Bob aren’t any of the dickwads from school. In fact, they’re surprisingly nice, particularly Ray. Bob’s the kind of person that looks constantly either done with everyone’s shit or pissed as fuck, and Frank takes a little too much amusement in causing either one of those looks to appear or intensify.

Rather than collapsing in on himself and participating in as little conversation as possible, Gerard finds himself open and engaging in strange but nonetheless pleasant conversations with Frank, Ray, Bob and Mikey, and occasionally Pete, when he isn’t staring off into space or concentrating on Mikey’s crotch.

They talk for a long time, about absolutely nothing, like they’ve all been friends for a really long time. Mikey sits in Pete’s lap, but doesn’t start giving him a lap dance (thank _Jesus_ ) and just sort of leans against Pete like Gerard tends to do with Frank.

Somehow, they get to talking about videogames, and when Frank claims he could _easily_ kick Bob’s ass at Halo, Bob’s only response is “bring it, midget”.

So the next three or so hours are wasted with Frank’s evil cackles and Bob’s excessive and loud swearing, paired with the occasional triumphant cheer and Frank’s shouts of “I let you do that, I let you do that”.

Pete and Mikey heckle them (although Gerard isn’t really sure why, he figures it must be a thing they do), and Ray just smiles and laughs at their antics. It’s infectious, and Gerard catches himself smiling and laughing along with his newfound friends.

 _Friends_ , he thinks to himself, _plural_. He smiles wider and his insides feel like sunshine.

✬✬✬

It’s getting dark out when Ray, Bob and Pete decide that they should head back to their homes. Frank shouts that he totally kicked Bob’s ass (even though Bob won) while Mikey pouts and winds his arms around Pete’s neck. Their muttering recommences, abruptly silenced with a kiss.

“Get your tongue out of his mouth and get your ass in gear, Wentz,” Bob says, smacking Pete over the head glowering at the two. Ray just shakes his head and pats Gerard on the shoulder, telling him it was nice to meet him and leans over to ruffle Frank’s hair, which earns him a glare and a middle finger.

“I’ll walk with you guys,” Mikey says. Bob rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything and they troop out of the house, an argument over whether or not to stop at Taco Bell erupting halfway out the door.

Frank crawls up from the couch from his previous position of sitting on the floor with his back between Gerard’s legs and cuddles up happily against Gerard’s side, sighing in contentment.

“They’re good people, aren’t they?” he says, and Gerard wholeheartedly agrees.

“Yeah, they are. I’m glad I met them.”

“Look at you, being a social butterfly!” Frank quips. Gerard scowls and smacks Frank’s arm.

“Shut your whore mouth or I’ll fuck it.”

Frank grins and rests his chin on the side of Gerard’s shoulder.

“I’m not exactly opposed to that.”

Gerard’s face flushes and he smacks Frank again.

✬✬✬

Two weeks later and Gerard is back at square one. The bruises and cuts that had healed have been replaced with new ones and they are worse, so much worse than the ones they covered.

The pain is almost unbearable, to the point where every breath feels like someone is stabbing him. One or two of his ribs are probably broken (or fractured, that’s happened before).

And Frank, Frank knows about none of it.

Mikey scolds him about it, leaning against the door frame of the bathroom while Gerard tries to clean up some of the more gruesome lacerations.

“You really should tell him. He deserves to know,” Mikey says, frowning at Gerard’s half ass attempt at placing butterfly bandages over a wound.

“I don’t want to tell him. We both know he gets real mad real quick and if he sees how hurt I am he’ll be on the ten o’ clock news for murder,” Gerard says.

Mikey sighs heavily and rests his head against the wall.

“And what is your plan for when he wants sex?”

Gerard shrugs, winces, and wishes he hadn’t decided to move his shoulders. Fucking _ow_.

“Suck his dick and come in my pants.”

“Not the best plan you’ve ever had, but I don’t really have a say, do I?”

“No, you don’t. Sorry. Okay, fuck this shit,” he says, tossing aside the tape. “Hand me the superglue.”

Mikey shakes his head, but complies nonetheless. He winces as Gerard squeezes the tube while pinching the cut together, spreading the tacky substance generously over the pursed skin.

 “Whatever, Gee,” he says, defeated. Mikey leaves the bathroom and goes to his room, closing the door with a near-silent click that seems to reverberate through the whole house.

In that moment, Gerard wants nothing more than to die. He wants to die for doing this to Mikey, for doing this to Frankie, for doing this to his mother.

The voices surge back with a stronger force and he grips the edge of the marble counter, staring at the basin of the sink, the world drifting in and out of focus.

 _Just write a note_ , they push. _You don’t have to **do** anything, you won’t be hurting anyone_. _Just write the note_.

Gerard stumbles down to the basement and rummages through his desk for pen and paper.

With tears welling up in his eyes and a heart heavier than the anchor of a ship, he begins to write.

✬✬✬

To the horror of Gerard (and the sick pleasure of the voices in his head) Frank finds the not-really-a-draft of the note a few days after it’s been written.

His heart crashes through the floor and through the crust of the earth and plummets into the depths of hell and _burns_.

“Gee – what – what is this?” he asks, eyes wide in fear and hands trembling around the paper.

Gerard forces himself to suck in a shaky breath.

“It’s what you think it is.”

Frank’s mouth stays open in shock and his eyes shine with tears. He reads the note again and cover his mouth with a hand, the tears escaping his eyes at a rate quickly increasing.

“Why? Are you – are you planning something?” Frank asks, the fear, the sorrow, the _pain_ prominent in his voice and whatever life was left in Gerard’s soul is slowly being carved out with every word out of his lover’s mouth.

“I wasn’t planning anything,” _Until now_ , the voices insist. “I just had to get it out of my system.”

“Fuck, Gerard. Fuck,” Frank says, setting the paper aside and covering his face with his hands, shoulders sagging beneath the weight of the moment.

“Hey,” Gerard says, scooting forward and moving one of Frank’s hands away from his cheek so he can replace it with his own. “Look at me. I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’m staying right here, with you. I promise.”

Frank leans into his hand and tilts his head so he can press a kiss to the palm, face warm and damp with tears.

“Please don’t leave me,” he whispers. Gerard leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to Frank’s quivering lips.

“I won’t. I won’t,” he says.

The words are empty. Gerard is empty, hollowed out, and not even Frank can restore the will to live that he now lacks.

That night, they lay tangled in each other, Frank’s head resting over Gerard’s heart. While he cards his fingers through Frank’s hair, he mentally plans out the final draft of his note.

✬✬✬

His mom manages to take a week off from work so she can catch up on sleep and check in on her kids. Gerard pushes his selected suicide date back a bit, just so he can spend a few more days with his mother.

After sleeping for two solid days straight, she announces that Mikey and Gerard are taking the day off from school and the three of them are spending the day together.

Gerard doesn’t object or complain. He gets the day off from school and he gets to see his mom. It’s a very acceptable exchange for pushing his date back.

She takes them out to their favorite restaurant and spends the day watching shitty horror movies and heckling the actors and characters with them. It’s almost as if she has psychic mind powers and can _tell_ that Gerard’s about to do something rash and stupid.

By the time his mom has to return to work, Gerard misses her presence immensely and very nearly regrets what he’s going to do in two days.

He spends an entire day with Frank, the day before he plans to die, on an all-day date of sorts. It had occurred to him that he and Frank had never gone on a date, so he decides to make it one of the last things he does.

They go to an abandoned children’s park and play on the swings, spend a stupid amount of time and money at an arcade and share a massive stack of pancakes at IHOP. Gerard thinks it’s a pretty good first date, even if it’s probably going to be their only one.

Gerard is so utterly in love it isn’t even funny. But the hollowness outweighs his love for Frank, and his love for Frank is something massive. He’s collapsing beneath the pressure of keeping his heart beating.

Ray and Bob come over for a bit too, and it physically pains Gerard, how unaware everyone is.

The day before his suicide date is spent with Frank and Mikey, hidden in the basement away from the world. It’s honestly Gerard’s ideal last day, spent with the two people he cares about the most. When Frank leaves, he gives him the sweetest kiss he can and tries to channel everything he feels for him into that kiss, hoping Frank gets the message, or at least part of it.

He hugs Mikey and tells him he loves him, and although Mikey looks confused, he says it back.

Gerard lays in his bed later that night and stares at the ceiling for forty five minutes, exhausted, biting back tears, before rolling out of bed, taking out a pen and a stack of paper and writing out his suicide note in the cleanest, neatest writing he has.

✬✬✬

_Dear reader,_

_I’m sorry, but not sorry enough to stop this. This is inevitable. I am an empty, hollowed out shell and although I am very much in love I have no will to live. For that, I am sorry._

_Sorry Mikey. Sorry Frank. Sorry Bob, sorry Ray, sorry anyone that’s been affected by my death. I love you mom. And to the bastard I call my father, see you in hell, fucker._

_All the love and regards I have left,_

_Gerard Arthur Way_

✬✬✬

He leans back in his chair and reads over his note. Deeming it satisfactory, he digs out the mix of antidepressants and pain pills that he’s had stashed in his desk for a while. Finding a mostly full bottle of alcohol, he folds the note neatly in half drags himself to the bathtub and climbs inside it, leaving the note on the counter.

The porcelain is shockingly cool on his skin, it sends shivers up and down his spine. His hands shake as he dumps the pills down his mouth and swallows them down with the liquor.

He rests his head against the rim of the bathtub and forces his body to sleep as the pills start to take effect.

Horror floods him when a knock on the bathroom door drags him near consciousness. They turn the handle of the door and open it, and they don’t scream, or gasp, or make any noise at all. They rush to his side and pull him up and out of the bathtub, saying things to him, things he can’t really hear.

“Fuck Gee, fuck, no, please no, please Gee, stay with me, I – “

They swear again and then they’re talking to someone else, and even though Gerard can’t make too much sense out of it, he catches the words ‘overdosed’ and ‘ambulance’ and ‘ _quickly_ ’.

“Fuck,” They say again and cradle his head in the crook of their arm, his body awkwardly splayed across their lap.

“Please live Gee, please, I – I love you, please,” they beg.  Gerard forces his eyes to open one last time and summons every last ounce of energy he has.

Frank is the one holding him, and the tears dripping onto Gerard’s chest belong to him.

“Frankie,” he smiles, using all of his effort to raise his arm and cup Frank’s cheek in the palm of his hand.

“I love you too. More than you’ll ever know,” he whispers.

“Fuck,” he says and turns over in Frank’s arms so he can vomit blood, red red red, red like Frank’s lips after he’s kissed them for a long time, red like the color he feels when he holds Frank, red like the sun when it sinks beneath the sky.

Red like love.

Frank swears once again and Gerard can hear sirens in the distance. He shouts something into the house, and someone shouts something back ( _Mikey, again_ , his brain says,). The sirens draw nearer and nearer still until they’re loud, too loud, too close.

He’s just barely conscious when he hears more shouting voices.

The sound of the footsteps running toward him get farther and farther away with every palpitating heartbeat. Frank’s voice is only a vague tether, until something cuts it and Gerard is swallowed in a void black like the emptiness that’s swallowed him whole, black like the most violent bruises.

Black like death. Black like this is end.


	5. Pray For The Dead

✬ **One and a half years later** ✬

Gerard sits on the cold cement steps of the looming building behind him, eyes scanning the street for the telltale vehicle signaling his brother’s and mother’s arrival.

He nudges the suitcase by his side idly with a toe, directing his gaze up at the chilled November sky and breathes in deeply.

This is the first time in a year and a little more that he’s been outside without a nurse with him. For whatever reason, the world seems more beautiful now that he’s allowed to do as he pleases, when he pleases, without constant supervision.

“Gerard! Hey!” a voice shouts from behind him.

He twists around a bit and grins.

Usually, the hospital would arrange releases so that none of them overlapped, but with the swamp of outpaitents a few had, thankfully.

He hadn’t been _completely_ alone this last year. He’d made a few friends, some that had gotten released shortly after his arrival, and some, like the approaching girl, that had been there the whole time.

“Six!” he calls, grin stretching wide across his face like it always does with her.

“What the fuck are you doing?” She asks, sitting down by his side and pulling the sleeves of her hoodie farther down her hands in an attempt to keep them warm.

He shrugs. “I’m waiting for Mikey and mom. You?”

“If my Nana would stop fucking watching reruns of _Sex In The City_ then I’d be at home right now with my cat and bed.”

Gerard laughs and she smiles.

“It’s fucking cold out,” she says. “My piercings are going to mold into my face at this rate.”

He doesn’t think that’s possible, but he doesn’t say so. If it is, it’d sure as hell be painful for her, as she has piercings on her lips, eyebrow, nose, and multiple up, down and through her ears.

“If they do, then you won’t ever have to worry about them closing up again,” he points out. She nods.

“Excellent point.”

They sit in a comfortable silence for a while, staring at the crisp winter landscape around them.

Six breaks the silence, and Gerard almost wishes she hadn’t.

“So are you going to go see Frank when you get home?”

Gerard shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. He probably hates me. I mean, Mikey was pissed as _fuck_ and yet he still visited me. Frank hasn’t visited me once, not even a call.”

“But he loves you, right?”

“I highly fucking doubt it. I’m not very lovable, especially after what I’ve done.”

Six picks up a twig from beside the pair and starts poking at a teeny ant that’s crawling over her shoe.

“I think he still loves you, even if he didn’t visit, even if he didn’t call,” she says softly.

“Honestly? I hope he does. I still love him, even if he’s stopped loving me,” Gerard admits.

“Now that, motherfucker, is true love.”

“You make me sound like a Disney princess,” Gerard says with a laugh.

“Oh dear god no, please don’t burst into song and start talking to birds and deer and shit,” she says and Gerard laughs again.

Just then, a car pulls up with Mikey in the passenger seat. He’s grinning, eyes wide and happy for the first time in a while.

Gerard stands, and Six stands with him.

“See you ‘round, motherfucker” she says, and pulls him into a bone crushing hug.

“You have my number, right?” he asks after they pull away, as he picks up his suitcase.

“Yup. It’s in my notebook.” She confirms. Gerard knows she wouldn’t have lost it even if it wasn’t in her notebook.

“Great. Call me or text me or some shit, okay?”

She smiles and mock salutes him.

“Aye aye, captain.”

“Bye, Sixta.”

“Adios, fucknut.”

He turns his back to her descends the hospital steps slowly and deliberately, reveling in the noise his shoes make on the cement. After a year of nothing but slippers, normal shoes feel like a luxury, and so do his jeans and Iron Maiden shirt.

Never again will he touch sweatpants or plain t-shirts unless he absolutely has to.

Mikey almost literally jumps out of the car and wraps Gerard in a hug so tight he almost can’t breathe. And he thought Sixta gave rough hugs.

“Don’t ever fucking do that again,” he says, still crushing Gerard’s intestines.

“Trust me,” Gerard says, “I don’t ever intend to, or want to. Jesus _Christ_.”

Mikey releases him and his mother swoops in, re-administering the bear hug and saying things into his shirt about her baby being okay, her baby coming home.   The most Gerard can do is hug back and make more promises that he won’t ever try to take his own life again.

Gerard gets shotgun on the way home, Mikey opting to sit in the back.

He marvels at how beautiful the city is, and how the place he once came to dread now seems so full of life. He’s tempted to just run around the block a few times and feel _free_ , but he’s low on energy from the lack of sleep brought on by the excitement of his release.

So he just closes his eyes, rests his head against the back of his seat and rests, his heart fluttering like the first beats of a bird’s wings on open air.

✬ **One and a half years prior** ✬

The dark coddles Gerard, keeping him wrapped in its clutches like a greedy child.

That is, until a steady _beep, beep, beep_ and the sound of voices begin to gently tug him away from the blackness.

He doesn’t want to open his eyes. He knows he failed, he knows he’s alive, and he hates himself, he dreads having to look at the sunlight, having to face Mikey, his mother, and _Frank_.

Oh god, what has he _done_?

His eyes stay closed and he focuses on making the voice that’s talking become clearer.

“He has three broken and two fractured ribs, a plethora of seemingly self-inflicted wounds, paired with bruises that could only have come from someone else, or a very bad fall down multiple staircases,” the voice is saying. It makes sense to Gerard, his chest fucking _hurt_ , though it doesn’t so much now, but that may have something to do with the fact he can’t feel his body.

“His stomach had to be pumped and he was severely dehydrated, as well as malnourished.  Were you aware of any of this?”

Silence. Well, not silence. The annoying beepy machine is still, well, beeping, and he thinks he can hear his breaths. He must have one of those weird ass oxygen thingies on his face.

“No, not at all,” a new voice says. A new _female_ voice.

 _Mom_.

He tries to say it, tries to make his mouth work, but it won’t. It’s almost like it’s been glued shut.

 _Eyes_ , he realizes. _I can open my eyes_.

His eyelashes flutter open and immediately squish back closed, blinded by the harsh white lights of the hospital room.

“Gerard? Gerard?” his mom says, and her hand finds his and squeezes.

Internally, he takes a deep breath and opens his eyes again, much slower this time.

Instantly, there are doctors and medical personnel standing over him, his mother and Mikey’s faces appearing and blending into the crowd.

His mouth is still stuck, and a nurse comes to his side and takes the plastic breathing mask off of his mouth.

“Gerard? Oh my god, oh my god, you’re awake, oh my god –“  his mom starts choking and gasping, sobs wracking through her body, Mikey rubbing her back and repeating a chorus of ‘it’s okay, he’s okay’ while asking Gerard a silent question.

“I’m tired. Gonna go back to sleep now,” he says. A nurse tries to start talking to him, but the weight of his eyelids paired with the lack of gravity in his body drag him away from consciousness.

✬✬✬

When he wakes up again, god knows how long later, the beepy machine is still making noise, but the oxygen mask has been removed. He tries to sit up, but his efforts are discouraged when the room spins, so he lays back down against the pillows and thinks about what he’s done.

Tears slide down his face and he looks up at the hospital window. There’s golden orange evening sunlight spilling through it, casting shadows around the room and over his bed, highlighting Mikey’s face with spindly black shapes where he sleeps in the chair in the corner of the room. The tears turn gold against the pale skin of his face and hands, reflecting and absorbing the light. The only things in this room that ruins the pristine combinations of golden and white are Gerard and Mikey, Gerard’s hair stark against the faultless light and Mikey’s entire being put out of place, his dark clothes and brown hair the only things bringing some form of color into the room.

Gerard really starts to cry then. He had been _okay_ with never seeing the sun again, with never seeing his brother again, with never seeing Frank again. He had been _okay with **dying**_.

And now he’s here in this godforsaken hospital room with doctors that have been pumping fluids and medicine into him and keeping him alive. Gerard almost wishes he’d written “DNR” in big block letters on his note and left it so people could see.

Across the room, Mikey snuffles and stirs. Gerard holds his breath and watches as Mikey’s eyes slowly open and adjust to the glowing room.

“Gee?” He asks, slowly sitting up.

“I’m here, Mikes.” He says. Mikey nods and sits up, getting to his feet and awkwardly stumbling to the hospital bed and crawling into it next to his brother.

Gerard scoots over to give him a bit more space (also so that his arm isn’t pinned beneath Mikey’s bony as all fuck chest) and ruffles Mikey’s tawny hair.

“Mom’s a wreck,” he says into the stiff hospital pillow.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Me too. Frank’s worse.”

The beepy machine speeds up. Gerard glares at it.

“The fuck is this thing even _for_?” he says and idly smacks the arm currently not preoccupied by Mikey at it.

“It keeps track of your heartbeats, fucknut,” Mikey says.

“Well I know that, but what is it _for_?”

“For annoying the fuck out of you.”

Gerard laughs, although it’s hollow and empty, like he feels.

“They’re gonna put you in a mental hospital, you know,” Mikey says after a minute, turning his cheek so he can look at Gerard.

“I figured they would,” Gerard says solemnly.

“Has Frank come to see me?” he asks. Mikey sighs.

“Yeah, he did. He actually rode with you in the ambulance. Held your hand a lot. Cried himself out.”

“I fucking hate myself,” Gerard says. Mikey reaches over and pats his cheek.

“None of this is your fault. Chemicals and shit. Science.”

“Yeah,” Gerard agrees, “But it isn’t _science_ making my boyfriend feel like shit and making my mother cry.”

“Technically speaking, it is, well, chemistry actually –“ Gerard cuts him off with a smack at his face.

“I get what you’re saying,” Mikey says instead.

A nurse raps her knuckles on the door.

“Gerard Way? The vehicle that will take you to the hospital is ready when you are,” she says, smiling a little too brightly for Gerard’s tastes. Gerard forces himself to smile back.

“Okay, I’ll let you know,” he responds, and she exits the room.

“Make some cool friends, okay?” Mikey says, sitting up and pulling Gerard into a tight hug.

“Frank gonna come say goodbye? What about mom?” he asks, curious, since he’s only been aware of Mikey’s presence for the majority of the day.

“Mom’s passed the fuck out, she’s tired, and Frank, I don’t know. I don’t think he’s coming back. I’m sorry Gee,” Mikey says, and pulls him into another hug.

Gerard pretends it doesn’t hurt. He’s numb, he can’t really feel anything to begin with. “It’s okay. You’re here, and I think that’s all I need.”

They stay like that for a while, hugging on the stiff and sterile hospital bed, the dying sunlight lightening the room just barely as it slides away and stretches the shadows longer across the tile floor.

“I’ll visit you as soon as I can, and I’ll tell Frankie you’ve gone. Sound good?” Mikey asks.

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

Gerard takes a deep breath.

“Alright. Off to the loony bin.”

That’s the most sincere joke he’s made in a long, long time, and even though there’s no life behind it, it makes Mikey laugh nonetheless, bringing alive sunshine into the room for just a moment.

✬✬✬

His first night at the hospital isn’t so bad. His roommate is a boy named Will, with tired eyes and a Blink-182 shirt, who smiles at him and then redirects his attention back to the book he was reading prior to Gerard’s arrival. The nurse instructs Will to show Gerard around, please, and to actually _speak_ , for once. Will nods and the nurse glares.

After she leaves, Will starts talking. It turns out they have a lot in common, even if Will is Mormon and tries to teach Gerard the Ways of Jesus. Gerard politely declines and Will shrugs and resumes talking about whatever band they’d been most recently talking about. They’d talked about quite a few that first night.

Dinner is an event to be remembered, the food is pretty good and even though he’s shaky and obviously scared, everyone is so, so nice to him. The staff hover, but don’t say anything, and oddly enough, Gerard feels like he has some form of a family.

That night, when he lays down on the bed parallel to Will’s, he stares at the ceiling and thinks about Frank.

His heart feels hollow, even though he loves Frank, he’s so terrified that his feelings are no longer returned.

✬✬✬

After the first week, time flies by. The doctors start giving him whatever antidepressant and he starts seeing one of the counselors every day for two hours.

It’s approximately five months later that he feels on his feet, held together, for the first time in a long, long time. The doctors insist on keeping him for a little while longer however, so they can keep an eye on him while they adjust the dosage of his medication.

Mikey visits every other weekend, or whenever he can sucker Ray or Bob into driving him to see Gerard.

His mother visits sometimes, whenever she can catch a free day from her grueling shift at her work.

Frank doesn’t visit. He doesn’t call. And even though Mikey and he are still best friends, Frank says nothing to Mikey about Gerard. At all.

“It’s almost like he’s convinced you aren’t real,” Mikey says. Gerard bites his tongue and swallows back tears. He just nods.

“I’ll fucking kill him,” Mikey says.

“No,” Gerard sighs. “Let him live. It’s okay.”

Even though it’s not, it’s really, really not.

✬ **One and a half years later** ✬

“Gerard, wake up. We’re home,” Mikey says, shaking his shoulder from behind the passenger seat.

He forces his legs to work and gets himself out of the car. The shock of the freezing November air successfully waking him up.

Once inside, he breathes in the smell of coffee, the morning’s breakfast and something else distinctly home and basks in it. After a year of perpetual hospital smell and that weird sterile soap anything other is a luxury, practically a myth.

He tells his mom that he’s taking a walk down to the children’s park after he’s artlessly thrown his suitcase down into the basement (which is somehow _clean_ , holy shit). She shouts back a response that Gerard doesn’t completely catch, but he doesn’t hear no, so he goes.

The swings make the most obnoxious squeaking noise on the planet, but somehow it’s kind of soothing.

He realizes while he watches his feet swing upward and cover the clouds, that this is the park he and Frank went to on their first date.

Breathing in deep, he bites back tears and thinks about Six and all his other friends, particularly Will, who always talked about seeing his girlfriend when he got out.

That was how all of their best conversations started. _When I get out_ …….

Some kids said they were going to confess their love. Some kids said they were going to punch whoever in the face. And some kids, kids like Gerard, kids like Will, said the first thing they were going to do when they were released form the hospital was cling to their lover and never, ever let them go.

 _When I get out_ , he thinks sadly.

 _When I get out_.

✬✬✬

God knows how long he swings for, he sort of loses track of time, transfixed by the sky and the leaves and the occasional family that appears, their child (or children) bundled in coats and scarves.

He hardly notices when someone sits next to him on the swings and begins swinging with him.

It’s only after he slows to a stop and the person next to him does as well that he really pays attention to them.

At first, he doesn’t believe it. It doesn’t seem real, or possible.

“Frankie?” He asks, his voice shaky and small.

Frank smiles. Even though he looks different (duh, he thinks, people change in almost two years, what else was he supposed to be expecting) it’s still the same smile. Still the same Frank.

“Hi, Gee.”

✬✬✬

He kisses Frank, long and hard, pressing his entire body up against Frank (even though he’s smaller) and holding him like he’s the last lifejacket on a sinking ship.

“I missed you, so much,” Gerard says against Frank’s mouth. Frank hums.

“I missed you too. More than you’ll ever know.”

Gerard loops his arms around Frank’s neck and buries his face in Frank’s shoulder, nose happily tucked in the crook of his neck. 

He feels like crying and he feels like celebrating all at once.

Gerard draws in a shaky breath before speaking.

“I love you,” he whispers against the skin of Frank’s neck.

Frank pulls Gerard away from his neck and cups his face in his hands, looking Gerard in the eye. Gerard can see the honesty and warmth shining there, and the feeling of _love_ surges up again.

“I love you too, Gerard, with everything I am and then some. I love you, I love you, I love you,” he says, each declaration punctuated with a kiss filled with just as much passion.

“My mom isn’t home,” he says, and Gerard’s eyes widen.

Frank and Gerard practically _sprint_ back to Frank’s house, losing their clothes almost the moment they’re in the door.

They make love, and Gerard isn’t ashamed of saying it this time, because that’s what it is, and it most definitely couldn’t be anything but.

Frank whispers endlessly that he loves Gerard, and after, as they lay in Frank’s bed, a sticky mess, Frank tells him he’s beautiful.

And Gerard?

Gerard believes him.

✬END✬


End file.
